The Mask: Science of Violence
by BiscuitDude
Summary: Based on the popular Dark Horse comic book series. A shipment of GrepCo Toys' latest Tiki Town merchandise is inadvertently directed and falls into the hands of one of the post office sorting clerks. However, Roxanne Travellyan doesn't quite realise just what she's come into possession of.
1. Chapter 1

Lightning cracks and thunderous booms echoed around the lone FedEs aircraft braving the Atlantic storm. This did not faze the pilots; they were used to the odd unexpected and adverse weather. Neither encountered such a ferocious flurry of crackling destruction like it. Jokingly, they mocked the suspect forecaster for their misfortune.

Within the cargo hold sat the perpetrator as some tribal accusations would believe a bringer of chaos, madness and destruction. Even though it had a mouth, it never spoke. It had eyes, frozen in a blank expression – red like the pits of hell. Even the strongest fell foul to its alluring emerald exterior.

This was not a creature of God's creation or a weapon. It was a mask, an unassuming jade mask. If the pilots didn't land soon, it too would claim its next victims. The storm lashed out at the plane, striking whips of judgement lightning. Strong winds encouraged the craft to deviate from its current trajectory, but the pilots remained in control.

Peril wrought hours passed and the craft landed at Bristol Airport in the early hours of the morning. Even on the ground, lightning strikes could be seen in the darkened sky. A welcoming committee of local mail couriers arrived to collect the incoming payload, ready to ship them off to their next flights or further inland.

Intervention prevented one particular package from reaching its intended destination. One baggage attendant, very lackadaisical in his trade, lobbed the package onto the conveyer belt. Like some otherworld force defiant to disrupt the status-quo, it bounced and jostled one parcel aside, taking its place.

Nobody took any notice of the mishap. At such early hours of the morning they wanted nothing more than to return to their cribs and doze off. Some had already done so; the mistake might have been noticed sooner otherwise. The package, and its mysterious contents, made its way onto the next truck heading through the rural south-west of England.

An alarm blared, and a sharp snort escaped Roxanne's nose as she awoke. Resistant groans followed and she slammed her hand over the nuisance beeper. Barely eight minutes passed when the alarm went again. And again she groaned and slammed the clock, more aggressively this time.

"Agh," she moaned, hoisting her body from under the sheets. It was barely morning; the sun hadn't even crept through the blinds yet, inky darkness filled the room. Roxanne yawned and stretched her arms out as she prepared for another days work. The untended carpet between her toes stood sharply upwards, prickling the soles of her feet as she walked. First port of call was the bathroom. A single light over the mirror flickered several times before it pulsed indefinitely, Roxanne yawned again as she examined the bags of her eyes.

_Nothing a little bit of makeup won't fix, _she thought. There was no need to be waxing it on like a harlot. Roxanne was modest. Shame the same rules did not apply to her haircut. Messy brunette and red highlights – or red head with brunette roots – were always her thing. It was a mistake in the first place. Just a silly prank where she decided to put red paint in her hair during primary school art class. It just stuck with her ever since. Now every morning she was making sure the tone and saturation was just right. She at least realised that dye was the answer, not paint. That was one tick off her list of things to get right in her minimal existence. Hair dye was the simplest; everything else was more of a chore to Roxanne than reward. A worthwhile job, even a career was much more important.

Working as a mailroom clerk was hardly aspiring, but it at least helped keep a roof over her head and additional support meant she could still have a life and an apartment to call her own. Other artefacts of her past exploits and ambitions littered her otherwise dreary living space. A guitar lay over the sofa. Doodles of various abstract images littered her computer desk. Somewhere on the hard drive were her failed attempts at freelancing, or writing a novel. Roxanne had tried different prospects. Yet each time, they led to a dead end. She'd either given up, or was told otherwise.

At least Roxanne's compulsive hoarding remained consistent. Collections of various trinkets and nick-knacks decorated her apartment, neatly hung, stowed away, or piled in a corner of one room. Some of it worthwhile pendants, the rest was just worthless junk – though not to Roxanne, despite her peers' protests.

Roxanne fixed herself a simple breakfast; strawberry jam on toast, and a coffee. All she needed to kick-start a day. An extra eight minutes in bed and she was falling behind – any longer and she would be late. Always allowing herself just enough time was Roxanne's style. She jammed the last grains of toast into her gob, on the cusp of choking, and quickly adjusted her hair as she strolled out the door. For a moment she forgot to lock it, but remembered before she dashed off. Even on her way to office, she kept recounting in her mind whether or not she locked the door. Of course she did. But she remained anxious all day, every day, until she returned home.

Roxanne lived out in the country, a few miles from nearby Bristol, so she had to drive her prized '75 Mustang – her parent's twenty-sixth birthday gift to her.

The rural location was quiet and peaceful enough, but she really wanted to live in the city, closer to her friends. A minimum wage job was not going to get her that. Even her parents would not help her out with all their money.

They did agree to pay part of her rent until Roxanne could get a better job. But each time the promise was made, Roxanne did not follow through. Now she was stuck in the mire going nowhere. She hoped her expanses into new territories would be the answer. They were not. Instead they just made Roxanne ask more questions about what she wished to achieve – what to do with her life. After so many different attempts, she wasn't sure anymore.

An eerie Friday morning mist glazed the roads. The amber headlights did little to pierce the flowing veil. Not that it mattered much. Roxanne had the route ingrained in her head. She admired the visage of the cloud white wisps dancing over the ground ahead, as if in a constant dream, or driving through a ghost town. Imagining she was the only person in town – or the world. Goosebumps crawled up her skin. But she came crashing back to reality as she pulled into the car park of the mailing office. She allowed the vehicle to idle for a moment, listening to the radio DJ finish his record.

When Roxanne finally clocked in for her shift at five-forty-eight-ish, she was quickly intercepted by her friend, Liz.

"Roxy! Dylan'll have your skin if he catches you." Early mornings had not done wonders for Liz's complexion. The amount of creases under her eyelids made her appear older. Liz and Roxanne went to the same school together, both in the same year. She was actually a few months younger than Roxanne.

"Why? I'm not late." Roxanne snuck a glance at the clock. She knew that she was on time - early for once.

"He saw what you wrote in the staff room."

Roxanne reminisced and chuckled slightly. Liz remained stern and straight faced. "Oh, come on, can't anybody have a laugh in this place?" She had become frustrated by her colleagues' lack of tidiness in the staff room that she wrote: 'Your mother does not work here,' in big bold letters across the fridge door. Apparently that is offensive enough to warrant an ear-bashing from her supervisor, Dylan. "If management aren't gonna do something about it. I will! Else, I'll go insane if I stay here much longer." The pair acquired their bags for sorting, ready for the day's tasks.

"So you said last week, and the week before that. When are you actually moving on? You've been talking about quitting for months yet here you are, still."

Roxanne sighed heavily. "I'm still working on it."

"Sure. I thought you wanted to be a writer?"

"Musician," Roxanne replied as she started sorting the envelopes and packages coming through.

Liz laughed, unsurprised by her friend's response. "It's always something new with you. What's next month's agenda? Adult film star?" Liz sniggered, forcing a slight reaction from her friend, "Can't you just pick one thing and stick at it?"

"You mean like I am now."

Liz cracked a smile. "If you put in as much effort into pursing a meaningful career as you do antagonising Dylan, you'd be an astronaut, or something, by now." Roxanne couldn't think of an answer. She had become content enough with her job that she did not outright leave. But she would be lying to herself if she said 'Yes. I am happy with my job.' Despite recent pursuits, she was expecting the world around to change for her benefit. She had given up trying.

"Maybe it's just waiting for me – the perfect opportunity."

"You'll find out eventually, I'm sure." Liz's reassuring smile generated a subtle tweak of Roxanne's lips.

"You…ever think of doing anything else, Liz? I don't want to think that you're here just because I am."

"Nah, no. This job is all I need, gives Pete a chance to look after the young 'un while I work." Liz married her long term boyfriend, Peter Lynch, a few years back and had a kid. Roxanne always admired their relationship; she was even a tad jealous. It wasn't that she liked Pete, not even close; it was because they were family. And, while they were not making millions, they could sustain raising a family. Roxanne had a deep, hidden yearning for such. Yet she did nothing to chase it. Just like everything else, it was an idea for the slag heap.

"It shows," Roxanne replied, "You _really_ need to do something about those eyes, Manson."

The conversation dragged as did the day. They didn't realise the sun had come up until they took a brief cigarette break. The mist had vanished, only the clouds from their tobacco sticks filled the air, burning their throat and stinging the nostrils. Roxanne's co-workers shot her several hateful glances, silently discussing in their little cult. She couldn't make out their discussion, but she didn't care. She just imagined their heads were seven feet into the concrete.

After their smoke break, Roxanne was assigned a separate section to Liz. A series of packages delivered from overseas arrived and Roxanne was tasked with sorting them. She was left alone, since the bulk of the staff had not clocked in yet. Either that or most called in sick, or were avoiding her. At least, that's what her paranoia said.

She didn't mind so much – time alone and just get on with her work.

After organising much of the payload, Roxanne came across an unmarked package. She examined every corner of it for an address to sort, but there was none. The edges were worn from travel and the cardboard was saturated, breaking off in her petite fingers. With no idea on where to organise it, Roxanne went to put the box aside when she heard the side rip. A solid clunk rang around the room as something hit the ground. She jumped and glanced down; a cracked, broken face stared at her from the ground – jade tinted shell and bloodshot eyes.

"Wait, is that?" she whispered to herself. Roxanne leant down to pick it up, her eyes locked on the bloody stare. Like a magpie to silver, she was entranced by the alluring trinket. Roxanne had an idea what she was holding and she felt giddy just thinking about it. Since hearing the stories she had to have it.

_Where were you going?_ Roxanne asked herself, pulling a small smile. Without a proper address she had no idea where it was going. Flipping it over, she saw the white marker – 'Prototype #5' – etched within the concave of the mask; there was no doubt that this was it. Her smile grew and, without realising it, her eyes became drawn to the empty sockets, surprisingly clear, considering the opaque red tint on the exterior. Roxanne had to flip the mask to make sure she wasn't imagining things.

_Red on the outside, but clear on the inside?_

Curiosity took over; she wanted to wear it, to try it on, to see the world through the eyes of the mask. She pulled it closer, heart steadily pumping to the rhythm of a drum. The mask would easily cover her face, with plenty of excess. Feeling the soft touch of her own breath against the hollowed item, inch by inch, Roxanne drew closer. Distant sounds and machinery slapped her back into reality.

Footsteps approached; Roxanne dropped the mask into her bag and dumped the rotted packaging. It was just the next batch of parcels being wheeled down.

"Next batch," the guy called as he pushed the loaded trolley to Roxanne's feet. He looked up as Roxanne tried acting innocent. "You okay, uh-" he struggled.

"Roxy," she replied, trying to dig into her work in the hope that the clerk would stop talking.

"Roxy. Roxy. You look a little flushed. Not coming down with something are ya? Or have you seen the Office Spook?"

"You mean Dylan?" Roxanne laughed; even the aging clerk let a baritone chuckle slip. "Nah, no, uh, nothing like that. I'm fine. You just…caught me by surprise a little – can get a bit jumpy when alone like this."

"Okay. I'll oil up these squeaky joints and wheels the next time I roll by – don't want to give you a heart attack."

_I'd be thinking more for your health._ Roxanne thought.

He got a hold of an empty trolley. "Oh! And beware the ghosts, Roxy. Beware!" He joked as he walked away, his voice echoing down the halls for miles. Tyrone. That was his name, Roxanne recalled. He'd been working at the office for years - one of the longest servers. Seeing so many people come and go, no wonder he could not remember Roxanne. It had been only five years. _Of course_ he would not remember her.

Roxanne managed to continue her duties, but every time she emptied her bag, she caught a glimpse of that mask staring back at her.

Sometimes, she thought she heard people talking, even when she was alone. Someone was calling her name.

_Roxanne_.

"Hello?" she would call out; each time there was no response. At first she thought Tyrone was playing his senile tricks again. But it was not. Even when she heard it next with Liz, she accused her.

"You're not supposed to go stir crazy until you've been here at least ten years," Liz joked. Roxanne was relieved when the clock ticked over to her break. It gave her the chance to drink some office coffee and kick up her feet for at least half an hour. The message she wrote was still on the staff room fridge for all to see, a group of young clerks gazed at Roxanne uniformly, branding their scornful looks into her brain. Roxanne could barely remember each of their names – she didn't bother to – but she did know one of them, all too well, Dudley Wilson. She would not indulge in their games and arguments; instead she wanted to see Liz. It wasn't often that both would get on the same break shift, but Liz sweet-talked Dylan into changing them.

"Hey, Liz," Roxanne said, getting as close as possible, away from the ears of the male contingent.

"Rox. Still surviving the rigours of office banter, I see."

"Look what I found."

Liz sighed, her eyes drooping with disappointment, "Don't tell me you've stolen another package again. I can't keep covering for you."

"It would've been no good, the label was worn-"

"Doesn't matter," Liz coughed behind a cup of coffee. "It's stealing!" Roxanne begged Liz to keep her voice down, lest she set off the gossipy crowd.

"Look. Just look at this." Roxanne pulled the mask from the bottom of her pack. "Pretty cool, yeah?"

"I see a resemblance," Liz said dryly.

Roxanne ignored her and pressed. "Come on, you know what this is?"

Liz shrugged. "Half price Tesco Halloween mask?"

"Pfft…no." Roxanne surveyed around again to see if anybody was eavesdropping and jumped over the couch to sit next to Liz. "Have you heard of Grepco Toys' Tiki Town?" Liz became suddenly uninterested and sighed frustratingly. "No-no, just listen-"

"This is another one of your kleptomaniac moments, isn't it?"

Roxanne continued regardless. "Tiki Town is a new craze coming out of New York. I read on the net that Aldo Krasker, who created the franchise, died before he could finish – some say he was mental, killed a bunch of people, but that's just blabber. Before he died, he designed these sweet looking, prototype masks that I _must_ have one for my collection. See that?" Roxanne pointed to the graffiti inside the mask. "That means this is one of the originals – a real collector's item!"

"Congrats. And I'm sure it'll look better on your shelf rather than your face."

Roxanne feigned a sarcastic laugh and placed the mask safely with her belongings, finally surrendering to Liz's lack of intrigue. "In a few years that mask could be worth millions-" The staff room door suddenly flew open. A lean man with combed head of orange hair stood staring at Roxanne.

_Dylan. Shit._

"Miss Travellyan," he said sternly across the bodies of workers. Roxanne knew he was serious. He used her surname. _Scary_. Otherwise he would've just said 'Roxy' or 'Roxanne' for casual banter. He stared at her handiwork on the fridge.

"Defacing company property is a disciplinary offense."

"And defacing the staff room isn't?" Roxanne retorted, looking at her colleagues expectantly. They all stared back at her for a moment before turning away. Roxanne imagined the kind of disgusted faces they were pulling out of her sight. Or what they were plotting to get their own back. "I prefer a tidy staff room, not a pig sty. Else, I'll go roll in a ditch."

"That is true, but you failed to notice that _you_ in fact have defaced the staff room." Dudley and his group sniggered and chattered amongst themselves watching Roxanne grimace and squirm. "You could've easily discussed it with me."

_No point, you don't fucking listen._ She thought, or even wanted to say. As proud as she would be by admitting it openly she knew what would happen if she did: A drawn out process with Dylan, her supervisor, in a boxy room explaining what she did, why and what would happen next. Previously it was just a piece of paper and slap-on-the-wrist outcome. How much more would Dylan put up with her? If he knew what was in the locker behind her, then that would not be much longer.

_'Kill him already!'_ cried the haunting voice. Those same spine tingling tones unsettled her. Roxanne looked behind her briefly, as if she now knew where the voice was coming from. However she didn't want to believe it. Dylan watched her closely.

"Do you understand?" he asked again. Roxanne didn't even realise he had asked the question already. "Roxanne?!" She was absorbed in her own imagination. So she had to grunt.

"Do. You. Understand?" he repeated for the third time.

"Perfectly," she replied unconvincingly with an appropriate smile.

Dylan glanced around for a moment, clocking everyone that witnessed the conversation. "Good," he said calmly. "So you can clean up your mess. Now."

Roxanne felt like whacking that guy's head into the fridge. She suppressed those feelings by letting out a frustrated groan. It wasn't until Roxanne walked out of the room with Dylan that the sniggering intensified. Liz didn't appreciate her colleagues mocking Roxanne so. She too felt like pounding a few of them, or talking them to death about principle.

"You assholes are the reason for this," Liz said to the group, gesturing towards the graffiti.

"It's worth it to see Roxanne fly off her rocker," Dudley laughed. "She gets so passionate about this shit-hole it's quite sad really."

Fortunately, once Roxanne returned with industrial cleaning materials, the herd had thinned and Dudley was gone. Liz hung about.

"Look, don't worry about Dylan."

"I'm not worried," Roxanne strained as she prepped her spray. "Why would I be worried? I have everything under control."

"I know that face," Liz replied. "You've got one of your 'Roxanne's Revenge' plans brewing. Right?" She knew of Roxy's revenge attempts: All talk, no substance. Except for one time in high school when she stubbed a cigarette on her ex's cheek. He never raised a hand against her again, but she got suspended for a few weeks.

"I'll be damned if I have to spend the rest of the day scrubbing this crap off."

"Did you not think to put it on paper and just tape it on? And, why of all things, did you have to use permanent marker?"

"I never was too bright," Roxanne groaned sarcastically, scrubbing the marks as hard as she could. The remaining colleagues watched on with amusement. Roxanne knew it was them that left the place in a tip anyway.

"Yeah, none too bright at all, Spitfire," one called out.

"You missed a spot, Spitfire," said another, purposely chucking a wrapper down on the ground.

"I hate that name," Roxanne grunted. She never quite knew where the nickname originated. Maybe it was because she always shot off her mouth at anything. Or maybe it's just because her hair was red like a flame. Or it was a combination of both.

"Could be worse," Liz assured, "How old are you guys again?"

"Eighteen, _mom_," one said. Eight years younger than both the girls. Liz wanted to smack the guy for his constant antagonising. She could see the anger boiling on Roxanne's face; it translated into her furious scrubbing. Gritted teeth and grunting made her sound like a lawnmower.

"Real mature fellas. Did Dudley teach you to be such gentlemen? Pick it up," Liz demanded with folded arms. The guys didn't answer. Roxanne appeared and removed the rubbish. "Rox, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Roxanne shrugged. "I'm _fucking_ cleaning, ain't I?"

Liz glided over and whispered in her ear. "They'll keep this up if you just let them walk all over you."

"They're not worth my boot," Roxanne replied quietly, disposing of the wrapper.

"Sometimes they are worth it. You've got to get mad every now and then."

"I am mad!" Roxanne raised her voice sharply, alerting the Meerkats nearby. "But kicking dirt like them won't do me any good. I can't do without this job. The parents would not approve." She sneered at the group staring. "You keep your grinning and you fucks will get yours. Eventually. I guarantee it!"

"Oh no," one jested, "I'm so freaking-terrified. What're you gonna do, Spitfire, _rub me out_?"

"Well…" Something broke. Roxanne's face turned grim and her smile inverted, twitching as if she were hiding emotions best kept contained. "When you're face is deep inside a concrete slab…we'll see who's laughing," Roxanne remarked with a twisted grin. "Buried alive, or seeing your intestines decorating the hallway. Perhaps I'll rip out your liver and mail it first class to Hannibal Lector! Then I'll take your heart and play the bagpipes whilst I dance on your mangled corpse." The group didn't flinch, but Liz could sense the uneasiness between them and stepped in.

"Enough details, Rox." Of course they did not like the sound of Roxanne's graphic scheme. Most of all, they were enjoying the spectacle and crazy-hair Spitfire shooting off her hollow threats. Liz checked her watch: she was due back. "Sorry Rox. I'm back on shift now. If I don't see you before, I'll see you tonight. 'Kay?" Roxanne didn't reply. She just shrugged her shoulders before returning to her scrubbing. Honestly, Liz was somewhat relieved that she didn't have to listen to Roxanne's ranting. But she did wonder how long it would be before she snapped. Liz truly hoped it was just Roxanne doing her usual thing. This time though, she was not so sure.


	2. Chapter 2

Roxanne was scrubbing marker off for an hour. In that time she quietly deflected the harassments from her co-workers and sat through another dull lecture from Dylan. All the while, in her head, she was plotting revenge. Deviously devising imaginative and disgusting ways to torture her tormentors was a sadistic pass-time of hers.

Despite all her imaginative thinking however, she lacked nerve. Ultimately, her actions would have dire consequence that she simply could not afford. Not to mention any possible criminal convictions. Instead, she kept her motivations masked by a free-spirited façade.

At the end of her shift, she just wanted to laze on her comfortable armchair and drown herself with a fine spirit. She acquired her belongings; mask included and left the office. Her relatively calm mood was wrecked when she saw her car. Just like her shenanigan with the fridge, black marker was scrawled over the passenger side door and arches. Pentagrams and hex symbols meant to deter her.

Upon closer inspection, Roxanne realised that it was not pen. Running her fingers over the streaks stained them with black paint. Roxanne boiled and released a strained groan.

A Civic rolled up to her. Down went the driver window and a familiar face poked out – no surprises – it was one of the staff room morons, grinning with triumph, Dudley Wilson...

"Enjoy the new paintjob, spitfire!" he yelled and drove off with a vicious wheel spin. Roxanne screamed and threw her own bag towards the rapidly accelerating vehicle.

"Bastard!" she screamed. "I'll fucking end you!" Roxanne took a moment to absorb her anger and frustration before slowly calming down – very slowly. Her head felt like an overheating thermometer. "Calm down, Roxanne." She looked at her car one more time before retrieving her strewn effects. "Look what he's done to you, the bastard." Most of her lunch remnants were over the parking lot, yet the mask still was inside her pack. One of the eyes peeked out and stared at Roxanne; she hesitated as she squat down to grab it and shook an unfamiliar feeling free. It kept creeping up on her and surprising her. But Roxanne ignored it as exhaustion. She had been working all morning and afternoon but a nudge in her brain constantly reminded her of the mask. Taking a deep breath, she ran her hand through her hair and prepared to go home.

Everything was tightly packed back in. Among her belongings she also found a note reminding her to get a present for her mother. Six months abroad and Roxanne was surprised how much she missed her. Finally she was coming home. Her parent's relationship wasn't totally sour. David, her dad, had enough faith in her to go abroad and still come back with no funny business. The less Roxanne thought about her absence, the faster time travelled.

Roxanne gazed back at her bag, seeing the mask poking out from the zipper opening slightly. Surely it was packed underneath everything else. Or she subconsciously put it on top without realising.

"Roxy, please don't buy a cheap bottle of sparkly from a garage forecourt," David had said, not forgiving her for a previous incident where Roxanne had swiftly gotten a very last minute birthday present.

Her gaze returned to the mask again. Perhaps she could give her the mask. It would be a nice gift, surely – no. What was she thinking? Roxanne wanted it. It was _her_ mask now and nobody else's – a collector's item which would be appreciated with Roxanne's array of trinkets. At the very least, if she got into any serious money issues, it was a quick money fix. However, she did not want to think like that. She was in possession of a current one-of-a-kind piece. Though, not quite in the way she thought.

Among her various trinkets Roxanne was sure to unearth something of interest for her returning mother. David was surely eager to see what ridiculous item Roxanne was going to come up with, she wanted nothing more than to see his smug look vanish with surprise.

With the Mustang's engines roaring, Roxanne made her way home. Hopefully nobody would recognise her with the new black 'racing stripes,' courtesy of the office baboon brigade. With a screaming banshee underneath the pedal, it was very difficult for her to not draw attention. Living in a rural area was even worse; the rumble of the powerful V8 never went un-noticed.

All the way home she was accounting what she kept among the stacks of rubbish, thinking of something that her mother would appreciate. Truthfully, she did not keep track of every little thing – that would be impossible and impractical. However, she reserved a special shelving unit for all her favourite pieces. The mask was going to join that illustrious club tonight: alongside a four-leaf-clover in a boot, an l-shaped fragment of supposed Norse iron and an old disused tank shell.

Nothing says "Welcome home, Mom!" like a disused world war two shell. Or she could just go down the dull approach and offer a five pound voucher in an envelope. That was too easy. And her dad would have her head. It had to be special. Her focus continuously drifted back to the mask. Like the fish on a hook, she could not escape it. Constantly it was drawing her intrigue, tapping her on the shoulder, begging for attention. However her thoughts of offering it to her mother were instantly squashed when she fell back to her own reality.

_This is mine_, she thought to herself. Once home, she spent most of her afternoon trawling through the junk, and listening to a kind reminder left on her answer machine. Roxanne was no closer to finding a gift, with the evening fast approaching; she had little to no chance of grabbing a late gift from the local market. The stalls would be shut and she wasn't even sure there would be something worthwhile anyway.

Roxanne sighed heavily. "What am I going to do?" That wasn't the only issue on her mind. The paint left on her car was a concern and the anger towards those that caused it. Sheer frustration started to take its toll and Roxanne was fuming. It was about to worsen. Her telephone rang. Roxanne wanted to leave it to answerphone, but if it were her dad, he would definitely scold her if she didn't. He knew that she would be home by now.

Roxanne handled the receiver and spoke. "Hello?"

"Hey Roxy! It's Liz." Roxanne was happy to hear Liz's friendly voice. However, she didn't quite convey it with such enthusiasm.

"Hi, Liz. What's up?"

Liz felt uncomfortable. "I was just calling, about tonight-"

"Oh! Dammit, I almost forgot. I hope you're still game, just wait till you see the awesome paint job our friends at work did to my car."

"What?!" Liz replied.

"Yeah, those jerks thought it funny to put 'go faster stripes' down the side of my lovely Mustang. Oh, and when I say 'go faster,' I mean pentangles like I'm a witch or a werewolf, or just a bitch. Hopefully it'll wash off."

"Those assholes. Someday they'll get theirs just like you said. When they're in hell and you're in heaven you'll be laughing."

Roxanne couldn't help but crack a slight smile. "That day can't come any sooner…uh, them in hell, of course. Anyway, enough about that. Usual again tonight?"

"Yeah…" A short uncomfortable silence didn't sit well in Roxanne's gut. She had an inkling what was coming and she wasn't going to like it. "I'm 'fraid I can't come out tonight. The 'sitter is sick and Pete is gone for the weekend. So I have to stay in with James."

"You're shitting me…" Roxanne released dejectedly. She was looking forward to unwinding, enjoying a lively night out with Liz. Now her plans were in tatters. Anger filled her stomach, poisoning her.

"I'm really sorry-" crying in the background cut-off Liz mid-speech. "Sorry, Rox, I gotta go. We'll do something proper next weekend."

"Fine," Roxanne replied sharply and slammed the receiver down. Her hand lingered over it, clenching tightly as rage surged to the surface.

"For fuck sake!" she bellowed and strained, tensing her fingers like claws.

A reckless swing of her arm knocked a mostly empty vodka bottle to the ground, it shattered in a small liquid explosion and crystals. Her one chance to unwind with a good friend tonight was spoiled. Roxanne took deep steady breaths to compose and opened a new vodka bottle. Other liquors and a carton of orange juice followed. Roxanne hastily mixed them and poured them into a small tumbler. A quick swig and the sweet alcoholic taste tickled her senses.

She took a seat on her big armchair, allowing herself to sink in – hopefully swallow her up. Leant against the chair was her discarded pack. Inside, Roxanne spied the mask within. She fished it out and stared at it. All it did was stare just as blankly back – cobbled together and red glass eyes stuck in the same unreadable expression.

"_Oh, it'll look better on your shelf rather than your face,_" she imitated Liz's comments disgusted. "Fucking bitch." She didn't really mean it. But her emotions hit boiling point and ready to burst out like a pressure cooker. Roxanne took a deeper swig and emptied the tumbler of its contents.

A sudden scratchy voice bellowed. "_Come on..._" Roxanne almost choked on her drink with surprise. Catching her breath, she kept the tumbler still in her hand. "_Let's cause some mayhem!_" Roxanne picked up the mask and stared into its bloody eyes. And it just stared back. There was no mistaking that voice – same as before. Whatever power dwelled within was begging for release.


	3. Chapter 3

Roxanne wasn't sure what to feel. Within seconds her rage had vanished and found herself wrought with curiosity and confusion.

"Wha-?" she whispered. She could've sworn that the mask was talking to her. That or she had finally snapped. It was an object, not a being. Masks do not talk. It was as simple as that. Unless it was like those old dolls Roxanne used to play with – with the pull string. But the voice was spoken with such clarity, as if it were in her head; it wasn't processed like the toys of old. Where would the voice box be anyway? The mask was so thin – not paper thin – but thin enough that there was no physical place to house such a device.

But it definitely spoke. Yet its pouting lips did not move an inch. It couldn't – it was impossible. "I really must be losing it." It didn't make her feel any more comfortable than she was. "I'm dreaming. You're just tired…and drunk. Yeah. Not crazy…crazy…talking to myself."

Roxanne was overtaken by doubt. There was no way she could converse with an inanimate object. Perhaps in an alternate reality, she'd ponder. Placing the empty tumbler down, the mask now had Roxanne's full attention with its lustre.

This was exactly what it wanted – a grip on her subconscious. Both hands were placed around the cheeks, her fingers hooked over the edges and into the concave.

Steadily she tilted the artefact, analysing every detail. Now that she had a quiet moment, without interruption, Roxanne could see that it was pieced together with shards of jade rock, skilfully crafted together and smoothed to a fine finish. She half expected to feel the imperfections and roughness of the mineral as she rubbed her thumbs along the surface. Even the spaces between the rocks were barely recognisable to the touch.

Roxanne pulled one of her hands away only to run it down one side of the face – thumb down the nose and over the pouting lips, feeling the same familiar smoothness. She wondered what kind of facial mould, if any, was used to forge the features. Was it the face of a man or a woman? That was impossible to determine – perhaps it was designed to be unisexual.

Clearly the manufacturer took great pride in his craft. However, Roxanne found it bizarre that a supposed mass-manufactured mask was so meticulously assembled. Especially considering the material – jade was not typical for a toy mask. Let alone one belonging to a franchise called 'Tiki-Town.'

Roxanne's eyes felt heavier as she stared into the mask's blank emotionless gaze. A small part of her wanted to look away, but a much stronger attraction kept her eyes locked on the mask. It was as if those big glassy red eyes hypnotised her.

Attempting to dismiss the feeling, she turned the mask over to see the inside. Pristine green gleamed in the dimming light as Roxanne saw straight through the eye pieces. Even the handwritten manufacturing mark went unnoticed. Her sight was firmly locked to the chasm in her palms.

All of her intrigue was suddenly overtaken by an alien compulsion. Without realising, she instinctively brought the mask towards her face.

"Liz, you're so full of shit," Roxanne scoffed, feeling comfortable that she was just dreaming. She closed her eyes, the mask inches from her. "I'll show you." She loosened her grip, merely guiding the mask in with her fingertips.

Her face entered the mask, her hair folding as the top capped over her fringe, feeling her own breath against the material. Smell of old rocks, like the sea, stung her nostrils as she felt the chilling inner forehead clonk against her own. A sudden rattling and evacuation of air shocked her, forcing her eyes wide open. A violent smack made Roxanne yelp as her face was sucked into the mask. Blood red crimson contaminated her vision, glass pouring into her eyes like water. Suddenly, Roxanne snapped into reality – a little too late.

She forced a shocked breath as the vacuum tightened around her face, taking a deep intake, unaware that the mask's mouth opened with hers ever so slightly. Jade melted unnaturally to a liquid texture, each cobble of jade merging as a singular living mass, and crept into her mouth, nostrils and under the eyelids. Skin boiled and burned under the intense heat of the mask – like boiling hot rubber over her skin.

Every contour of her face felt tight against the mask as it fused and moulded to her features. Then a sudden flurry of activity ensued. Writhing and wiggling on her face, the ethereal powers hastily mapped out Roxanne's face, yanking her head side to side. It all happened so quickly that she didn't know how to – or could not – react. Several hoarse and pained groans were all Roxanne could muster under the bizarre pain. Thick tendrils and slinks of green snaked from the edges and slipped over Roxanne's head like giant grotesque digits, slicking and sucking her hair under the growing mass. Ears vanished and burned under the hot lashes. The mask crushed her head with growing, powerful pulses, seemingly increasing in mass. Roxanne unleashed a strained and painful groan behind gritted teeth. Green smoke started swirling around her, billowing from what gaps remained between her face and the mask.

If it weren't for the object on her face, Roxanne would've believed her face was literally alight with flames. The heat and penetrating warmth was agonising. As if she had left her face to flirt with the tips of candle flames and then suddenly forced into a hot lava bath.

She was powerless to scream as the artefact expanded her eyes to exploding, big red orbs in her sockets, veins bursting. Her teeth trembled and shook unnaturally as the mask relentlessly applied its magic further. Even her cheeks were pulsing with pain as extra mass was forcibly pressed against her. Eventually, Roxanne managed to cry an agonised, otherworldly scream as her mouth opened fully. Her eyes burned with searing pain, she wanted to claw them out. She shook her head backwards and forwards trying to fight the pain and reactively tore at the remaining thick whips tightly wrapped around her skull.

The shock of the attack and the sheer ferocity prevented Roxanne from retaliating quickly, but she finally felt able to fight. Her mind became overwhelmed with only one thing: she had to get the mask off! All of the day's events paled away. Family didn't matter. Work didn't matter. All that mattered now was what was happening to her. She had no idea if she was going to survive. Each press, every pulse and writhing motion was agonising. Roxanne feared it would crush the blood from her head and out her eyes into a blob of broken skull, flesh and brain.

Vainly combatting the change, she managed to get to her feet and aggressively rip the rapidly fusing tendrils from her head. She screamed as she tore her own wild hair along with the lively mask.

_Gotta get this off!_ She thought. Soon she was engulfed in a tight smoky blanket, swirling in varying degrees of green and purple. Eventually, the mask consumed her head, the crushing wraps merging at the back of the skull. Roxanne could no longer rip the mask from her face. It squirmed and bulged, a big pulpy green mass where Roxanne's head once was.

Her whole body tingled and surged with a growing, uncontrollable power screaming for release. Shocks and jolts jerked her around irregularly inside the clouded cocoon. Yet Roxanne persisted, adamant that there was some way of stopping this. In one vain effort she tried clawing the mask off – a sudden thought of tearing the rubber with her nails. However, no matter how much she clawed at the face, it would not budge. Her nails cracked and broke against the still solid feel of the jade mask, like scratching a chalkboard.

Her bones and muscles were overtaken by an unknown force originating from the mask. Pulsing lights shot from the cloud, lightning shocks highlighted Roxanne's contorting body within. Even her clothing was manipulated; rapidly broken down and reconstructed with bizarre patterns and chaotic shapes. The notches on her belt extended to spikes and her earrings, engulfed by the mask, sprouted from within and looped.

Teeth grew to the size of rocks, uncomfortable in Roxanne's jaw which stretched out to accommodate the change. As did her cheeks; they became tight and pointed, emphasising strong green cheekbones. Still hopelessly tearing at the back of her skull, Roxanne released stifled groans, unable to speak with her unfamiliar mouth, unaware of her hair shooting out from beneath the green rubber in hot pink streaks. All the while her nails quivered and grew, repairing themselves and magically coating themselves with red varnish. Finally the clouds dissipated and Roxanne felt a slight reprieve. She collapsed to her knees and steadied her shaken body. She felt able to speak again. But something was not right.

"Hel-he-hel," she spluttered, her figure steadily revealing beyond the clouds. Quickly her pleas changed to low chuckle. Running her hand down her face, she felt the tight rubbery skin of the once solid mask. Her blank expression warped to a giant grin. Giant tombstone teeth lined her jaws concealing the great chasm beyond. Chuckling erupted into a deafening cackle. There was an infectious sense of power within her, like she could do anything she wanted. It made her feel supreme.

"Ho, this feels great!" she proclaimed loudly with a deep gravelly voice. As the last cloud evaporated, Roxanne – or what was Roxanne – stood alone in the apartment, grinning fiendishly. Her face was dulled green, warped and contorted like some twisted cartoon character.

She could feel the power; she didn't want to spend time considering the potential. Roxanne just wanted to do.

"Roxanne," she gleamed, "you're gonna show them all what you're made of! Beyond flesh, blood, bones and one hell of a _sweet_ new look, of course!" Wild and free, she madly ricocheted around the room, knocking her furniture out of position before leaping out of the window. It was Friday night and she had a craving, an itch to scratch. Right now, Roxanne only knew one moron – or two – or three – who could oblige.


	4. Chapter 4

The purple sky of dusk slowly receded into complete darkness as the hours passed. Dudley Wilson was feeling very proud of himself as he left the motor garage, a wad of bills tightly within his grasp. Counting his winnings with a triumphant grin, he made his way towards the Civic waiting in the deserted carpark.

"Dudley, you sly fox, you've done it again!" He relished the feel of the fifty pound bills between his fingertips. Even though he was certain he was not short changed he continued counting, gratified by just how much he managed to cheat from the competition, two-thousand. All from one lousy card game. No tax either. And with his stocky physique, no one dared question his methods, lest they wanted a visit to the doctor's ward like the last person to challenge him – or rather taunt him.

With winnings in hand, Dudley was keen to enjoy the remainder of the night. After a long day at work, pissing off his angry red-hot-headed colleague and now a fistful of cash, he did wonder how his day could get any better. His plan was to risk even more of his money on a newly opened casino further in town. It was the thrill that got his blood going. Risk it all and potentially lose it all. Should the odds stack in his favour then the rewards would be great, the thrill of gambling.

After fondling his wrapped wad, he finally stowed the cash in his jacket pocket and squeezed into the driver's side of his rusting silver Civic, a resealed can of black paint sat on the back seats. Dudley always wanted to get at Roxanne for her outspoken behaviour – she was an easy target. Fortunately she produced the perfect opportunity for him to exploit. After seeing her scrawling over the fridge, he felt it appropriate to pay her back in the same ilk.

"Karma's a bitch," he guffawed feeling content with his accomplishment. Though he did not quite realise how severely he'd suffer the consequences. The garage was a couple miles out of the city, down rural countryside, just like Roxanne he'd have to navigate the winding pitch black corridors of hedges and tarmac until he reached the city.

After a few minutes of driving, his headlights began to dim, flickering until they died completely, the long stretch of road swallowed in darkness. Gently, he eased off the accelerator, hoping to avoid disaster, but he was still rolling along briskly. A sharp and powerful judder, like a clap of thunder rippled through the chassis and Dudley slammed on the brakes hard.

"Shit!" he cried. The lights revived a little too late. Country roads were always a haven for all sorts of wildlife so Dudley was accustomed to encountering the odd rabbit or fox. But the force of the impact was much more than an innocent bunny. Even from the driver's seat he noticed the crippling damage to the car hood in the reflecting light. Perhaps he had collided with an escaped cow.

He took a look out his rear window. It was too dark for him to see what he hit. If it weren't for the force he would just drive on. Curiosity got the better of him and he opened the car door. Peering out, he still could not see what he hit. Usually the taillights would illuminate a carcass in blood. Especially considering the noise and impact of the collision, Dudley expected to see the remains of a bovine in the road. Ensuring that he was fully visible with the car lights on, Dudley unfastened himself and stepped out into the cool summer evening.

Poisoning fumes from the idling Civic polluted the West Country air, but Dudley did not mind, he was used to the city smell rather than the fertilised fields. Firstly he walked to the boot of the car to spot the wounded animal or carcass of what he hit. He was surprised to find nothing. So he expected to find some poor creature stuck underneath the vehicle. Pressing his cheek to the road, he stared under and straight through.

_What the fuck?_ Dudley thought, getting up and scratching his head. Something hit the car. He looked around for some consolidation, but even the road was level, so there was no chance of it being a result of some upchucked gravel. Still, it would have to be one heck of a chunk to dent his car like that. Before resuming his journey, Dudley went to inspect the damage to the front. There he noted a large stain splattered across the front. His gut reaction was blood, but a fraction of the light revealed it to be a green gooey substance. Dudley took a pinch and rubbed it between his index and thumb. The slimy, rubbery texture clung to his fingers, expelling an odour of old rancid meat.

"That hurt!" something screamed. Dudley nearly jumped out of his skin, from the slime emerged a figure, first the head, then neck, torso and the rest formed. Hot pink streaks shot up on end from the big green skull. "Head. Shoulders. Knees. Toes. Chest. Phew, thought I was a goner!" it screamed. "Just as well I managed to stop you before you really hurt someone-" The figure seemed to be full of energy despite being a stain no more than a moment ago. Dudley's mouth gradually gaped open as the erratic, cartoonish sharp movements of the feminine figure began to make him nauseous. Zipping one way and then the next, jabbering so fast and incoherently. Suddenly the figure stopped, as if it remembered something.

"Oh, dear, here I am, buzzing around, you flatten me and I don't even get to say thanks. What's your name young man?" Dudley's reflection in the pearly whites of the creep's exaggerated smile showed how dumbfounded he was.

"Uh, Dudley," he replied.

"Nice to meet you, 'Uh-Dudley.' I'm…me! Can you help me? I'm looking for someone."

Dudley didn't want to reply, he just wanted to get away from this green-faced loon before she tried something. He figured that if she humoured her, she'd just go away…maybe. Regardless, he instinctively asked; "Who?"

"A guy called Dudley. You haven't seen him have you?" The girl's eyes bulged inquisitively, one the size of a football looking straight at him. Dudley was disconcerted. What kind of game was this? She knew him, surely. In fact, Dudley knew lots of people; acquaintances, friends, former conquests…enemies. Why the dumb act though? Why did…she, want to find him? And he was right there…Dudley scoffed trying to find logic in the nonsense and stepped away.

"Alright crazy lady. Go and bark up someone else's tree." Unsure of what else to say, Dudley walked back to the driver's door. The big green headed woman howled with feigned disappointment.

"Daww. And we were getting along so well, Uh-Dudley." She sighed heavily, "Well if you so see Dudley please tell him I'll see him soon." Before Dudley could turn to meet eye contact, she was gone. He looked around, hoping to spot the moonlight bouncing off her emerald dome. She was nowhere to be seen. Dudley sighed, relieved that she was gone.

All the way into town, he kept a close eye on his mirrors and surroundings. Perhaps there was a misunderstanding, or pure coincidence, but Dudley could not fathom why she was looking for him. Sure he'd scorned a few women before, but he didn't quite expect that. There was something about the hair though that felt awfully familiar.

The new casino came into view. Where there was once an old decrepit warehouse was now an overly illuminated eyesore in a dark corner of the city. Despite this, there was a large crowd, all clamouring to throw away their hard-earned – or otherwise – cash. Most of them had made it on foot, likely trekking from their pub crawls, so the parking lot opposite was relatively silent. Dudley pulled into a free space and disengaged the engine.

Ensuring that he had his stash still to hand, he exited and sealed the door shut. All the while, he was constantly on the alert for his stalker. With that face, Dudley figured she'd be easy to spot. So he was reasonably calm that he could not see her. After shuffling through the crowd he entered the casino, blinded by the intense lights blaring from up high. There was clearly an attempt to replicate the grandeur and spectacle of the Vegas casinos, but this one, whilst commendable, was ultimately lacking.

Dudley noticed the cheap plastic plants and potters from the local garden centre, and the 'satin drapes' were clearly not satin. He had the exact set in his own apartment. However, he wasn't here to critique the establishment. He had an itch to scratch the only way he knew how. It wasn't long before a portion of his earlier winnings was converted into playing chips and coins.

Several hands of blackjack and a grand down the toilet, Dudley made his way over to the slot machines. He hoped to win something, even if he did not particularly like playing slots. At the end of the day it was gambling, and he loved it.

By now, he had forgotten all about the crazy woman. Lights from the machine dazzled his tiring eyes. Despite this, Dudley rhythmically fed the slots more coins and yanked the lever. Each crank and jingle was followed by bitter disappointment. With the hours creeping past midnight, Dudley was ready to surrender and retreat.

Until, _jackpot_, the lights blinked and whirred. Dudley punched the air delighted to finally get his long sought after victory.

"Jackpot!" screamed a face launching out of the machine, blasting Dudley onto his behind. It was _her_. Everyone who heard the commotion turned and looked at the spectacle; Dudley flat on his back and a green faced woman, half inside the small slot machine.

"Hey Uh-Dudley, fancy meeting you here." Dudley backed away quickly, his jeans burning against the tacky carpet. "You had any luck finding Dudley? No?" Dudley staggered to his feet. "Ah well, don't worry. I've found him!" She stretched out from the machine like a rubber band and wrapped her hands around Dudley's neck tightly. "You owe me for my car you cretin!"

Dudley gasped for air, trying to speak. He spluttered and wheezed, desperate to appease the soul he had angered, the ill-tempered woman behind the mask, but he could not.

Roxanne's irises burned bright red, her anger and rage fuelling the powers manifested through the mask. "And you will pay me back. But your money and hollow apologies won't suffice." She took a glance back at the machine, "So come hither, it's time to collect your winnings." She snapped back into the slot machine like a slingshot, pulling Dudley along head first. Not even a moment for him to scream as his skull cracked and crushed as he was rapidly forced inside.

It didn't take the crowd long for their inaudible conversations to erupt into a chorus of screams and scattered like roaches. Blood trickled down the slots from where Dudley's head used to be. Leaping out from the machine, the green faced assailant glanced around, scratching her own teeth like nothing happened.

"Alas, poor Dudley, he lived to gamble…and he died to gamble…meh, you're no Shakespeare, Roxanne, that's for damn sure," she said sarcastically, her voice grizzled and gravelly behind the mask. "Now, let's see…" reaching around to her back pocket, the woman shifted around, looking for something. She was quickly approached by an officer who had been stationed outside, his gun raised and aiming at the big green target.

"Don't move!" he cried.

She just put her free hand up. "Excuse me. Can't you give a girl a moment, please? I need to update my list." She focused, biting on her tongue and pulled out a long sheet of paper trailing down the floor, uncoiling by the officer's feet. Her mind just imagined anything and the mask created it. A pencil and a pair of bifocals appeared on her head.

"Dudley…Wilson. There," she said and crossed his name off the magical list. The officer lowered his weapon slightly, puzzled by the bizarre woman. Still, he kept his gun barrel aimed in the general direction of the felon. "Now then: Can I help you?" Big eyes in the big green head turned to stare at him. "You're not on the list…are you?!" She challenged. Her neck stretched beyond the sheet like a giraffe to get in the officers vision.

"Ye-You-you're coming with me," he stammered.

"Eh, I'd watch where you're stepping if I were you." One careless step on the woman's magical list caused it to spasm and burst to life. The end scrunched up and tore itself apart to a vicious beastly jaw. It roared loudly, spraying shreds of parchment into the officer's face. Strong winds stretched his face and shards shot into his eyes. Each hit made him scream hoarsely in the tornado. "Don't say I didn't warn you," the woman laughed, releasing the sheet from her grasp, allowing it to freely attack the officer. It sliced and ripped into his uniform, biting his skin with a thousand paper cuts. "Man up, chump. It's only a paper cut." She said as the vicious screams of torture and begging continued.

The woman squealed with glee, shaking and shuddering like a giddy child. "This is fucking amazing!" Her voice echoed and rang around the mostly empty casino floor. Apart from the remaining scream of terror, only the jingles of idle slot machines accompanied her.

"Aww, was it something I said? Should I keep my tongue PG rated. Don't go! I'll put everything right!" Zipping around the floor, she scooped up every loose penny and note she could find. Machines were smashed open for their loot and stashed in the big-headed woman's sack. All the while singing and smashing to the beat of her own twisted rendition of Lovin' Spoonful's 'Do you Believe in Magic.'

"Broadway, eat your heart out!" she finally cried. A full sack of cash over her shoulder, she set back out onto the streets of Bristol. The night was still young enough for her to cause some more chaos. And she had to right her wrongs the only way she figured how…


	5. Chapter 5

_Bang bang_. Roxanne stirred from her slumber. _Bang! Bang!_ The drumming was more urgent than ever.

Either Roxanne had the worst headache ever, or there was someone at the door. Her head ached, like putting her brains through a blender then put them back. Her eyes slowly adjusted and soon recognised the familiar surroundings of her own apartment bedroom. Strange she could not remember getting in last night. Heck, she couldn't remember anything immediately. There were flashes of a crazy dream she had. All the images crammed into a short frame of time, so vivid and so real in her unique imagination. Then for them to just vanish in an instant upon opening her eyes. Back in the realm of sensibility, she found herself half naked under the bed sheets.

She released a great yawn and turned to get up. She winced when her head hit a chilling stone. Slowly, her eyes opened, adjusting to the lowlight creeping through the drawn curtains, tinting the room with a warm purple hue. Red eyes roused her with a frozen gaze. Suddenly she wasn't so slow to awaken and unleashed an almighty screech that even the heavens could not ignore. Propped up on her pillows, the jade mask stared blankly back at her, maybe even a little smugly.

There was no time for her to settle, there was definitely someone at the door and, judging by the thumps, whoever it was, was coming through whether Roxanne greeted them or not. She grabbed the closest shirt draped over the bedside table to cover her naked chest. Splinters were shooting off the door by now as the knocking intensified.

"I'm coming!" she called out. The apartment was a complete mess, more than usual. Unlocking the door, she opened it slightly and peered through the crack. On the other side stood the landlord; Nathan Vincent.

"Oh, hi!" she said surprised.

"Hi yourself," Nathan replied not with malice or discontent, he sounded more worried. "Are you alright? I heard you scream." He tried to steal a peek inside, but instead got a nice view of Roxanne's cleavage. Roxanne didn't notice. If Nathan saw the state of the apartment, he would never leave. Or even worse – charge her even more for next month's rent.

"I just stubbed my toe getting out of bed," she said quickly. Nathan automatically looked down; Roxanne ensured that her feet were out of sight.

"That was one hell of a scream for stubbed toe." He tried to peer in, but his tenant's assets provided a suitable distraction – much to Roxanne's disgust.

"Was there anything else?"

"What are the rules again?" he asked.

Roxanne was bewildered. "'scuse me?"

Nathan sighed heavily. "No funny business and noise to a minimum after midnight. I had poor Mrs Kennedy knocking on my door gone three in the morning complaining about the noises coming from your room." Roxanne shot a worried glance. "When I came to check, your boyfriend…girlfriend or whatever told me: 'get stuffed you old, perving windbag.'"

Roxanne tried not to laugh. "Really?" she couldn't help but smile. Nate looked bemused, but continued. He figured maybe it was her playing around, but the voice he remembered was nothing like Roxanne's.

"Sounded like a he, or she…must smoke a lot with a voice like that."

Roxanne started to consider that her wild dream was more than just that. Plus, she liked old Mrs Kennedy from downstairs. She helped Roxanne settle into her new environs nicely and kindly provided her some old furniture as a starting point. That armchair was the comfiest chair she ever had, much more so than the artistic crap her parents were exhibiting in their living room.

"I don't know what crazy things you got up to last night. But when you do, please keep the volume down. I don't want to hear you in the act again."

_What?!_

Of course Nathan would presume. What other logical explanation was there? Roxanne felt a tad embarrassed and offended. She hadn't been 'active' for a few years after a nasty incident with one of her exes. One that she'd rather not be reminded of let alone repeat. Still, for the sake of the charade, she played along.

"Fine. Sure, Nate. Whatever." Without hesitation, Roxanne shut the door before Nathan could say anything. She didn't slam it, but was rude none the less. She lingered by the door, curious if Nathan would knock again. After a few short seconds, she heard him move off. She sighed heavily and held her head, trying to nurse a migraine that wasn't there.

_Get stuffed you perving windbag._ Roxanne remembered rehearsing that in her head in the past "What the fuck happened last night?" she asked herself, looking back at the apartment carnage. On her way back to the bedroom she corrected some of the furniture – tipped her chair back upright and the floor lamps. She headed straight for the mask and picked it up, still locked in the blank, emotionless stare.

"What did we do last night then, mystery mask?" As she looked over the artefact and absorbed the details, she felt a strong sense of déjà vu. "And here I am…talking to myself…again…gee." Roxanne discarded the mask back onto the bed and followed her morning routine albeit later than usual. It was well gone eleven by the time Roxanne had adjusted her hair and dressed in something clean.

Knowing the coming day's events, she dressed appropriately. Otherwise that would not go down well with either her father or mother. Her hair was still a mess, less wild, but still tomboyish. She kept her shirt, but wore a tank top underneath so as not to display her bare chest through the fabric.

Since it was her day off too, she took her time to enjoy the morning - what was left of it at least. She turned on the small portable kitchen TV as she cooked up some breakfast pancakes. Most of the newscast was the usual bore; nothing of particular note. Bristol City were still squandering around in their league division, her dad will surely be talking about that at some point. However it was a recap that caught Roxanne's attention.

"And a reminder of our top story this morning; police are on the hunt for a masked woman who murdered one man and an officer on duty…" Roxanne turned the volume up over her frying. "In the early hours of Saturday morning the masked assailant murdered one Dudley Wilson and Officer Francis Coke before leaving the Bullion Harbour Casino, on its opening night, with a large sum of money. Witnesses report the woman deposited change and notes from the rooftops around crowded clubs and bars in the city. Several people were severely injured in ensuing brawls and at least two more have been confirmed dead. Numerous arrests have been made-"

Slower than usual, Roxanne resumed cooking. The cast flicked a switch in her memory. As more details were described, she felt the similarities to her own dream. A green-faced girl, the death of her tormentor, Dudley Wilson, and the officer shredded by magical parchment – they were all in her imagination. Or so she thought. Now she realised her imagination was actually a reality. That…or it was all just one big coincidence. Roxanne knew better though. That terrible feeling of realisation sunk in as insane the situation was.

_It wasn't a dream at all…_

Roxanne refused to believe it was her. How could she do all those things? How was it even possible for her full stop?! Fragments of her escapades last night filtered back into her conscious. Only certain things surfaced; the casino, seeing Dudley's mortified face moments before crashing into the slot machine. Taking the money out of the casino all singing and dancing like it was some kind of child's game. Her memories were fragmented and jumbled, still images like a slideshow out of order. Roxanne turned to retrieve the mask from the bedroom. It sat, staring, forever staring at her from the comfort of the armchair. Strange, she did not remember putting it there; almost as if it knew it was required and appeared before its master…

Panicked breathes escaped her mouth as she lifted the mask from its resting place yet again. It compelled her time and time again. She had only had the damned thing less than twenty-four hours and already she was struggling to fathom the possibilities. Most of her did not want to believe any of what happened. Yet there was no denying the weight of the news cast. Despite the constant theories behind fabricated news, Roxanne had no doubt that it was all true, why go to such lengths. An elaborate prank maybe, or she was still dreaming. She did not want to believe it. But she did not believe in coincidence. She had to know the truth – she had to be certain.

"It's impossible." Roxanne turned the mask and peered in, sensing the familiar once more. "Maybe if- Surely can't be." A part of her was scared, terrified by uncertainty. If so, then she would relive the same dream again. Cockiness blinded her last night, so she did not fear it. Now that she was vaguely aware of the potential, Roxanne feared the consequences if she dared don the mask again. Just how far would she go? However there was a small part of her, one dark part of her intrigue, that single human urge of discovery had to know the sinister mysteries of the mask.

Time was against Roxanne though; the toaster latch broke her trance. She had to get a gift fast. While it was starting to creep into the afternoon, Roxanne still could afford time to browse the shops around town before heading to her parent's house. Roxanne wolfed down her cooked brunch – since it was done too late to really call it breakfast. She needed to put something together for a present. None of her countless trinkets were sufficient.

Every other Saturday both she and Liz would go around town. Since Liz let her down last night, surely she would want to make amends and meet her – even though they went out last weekend. Roxanne made one quick phone call to Liz, just to be sure. Once it was official, she made her way out. Not before deciding what to do with the mask. An overwhelming urge and sensibility forced her to take the mask. At least it was close, rather than anywhere else – couldn't fall into the wrong hands.


	6. Chapter 6

Roxanne and Liz pushed James along the Bristol harbour side after an hour browsing the many stores in the city. Restorative projects were going on along the waterways; construction workers were building new attractions ready for the turn of the millennium. One in particular, a brand new science centre poised to exhibit a nature walk and the largest widescreen theatre in the West Country, was partially funded by her father.

Pero's Bridge was close to opening, expected to be officially completed within the next month, becoming the first pedestrian bridge scaling the harbour waterways allowing direct access to and from Queen Square.

During their splurge, Roxanne managed to find a fancy wall mask – the passenger in her pack having an effect on her choice – a wooden African mask with a dark brown finish, for a reasonable price of course. At least now she needn't worry about passing off her own mask. It also gave her the chance to find some cleaner for removing the paint stains off of the Mustang.

For the most part, the two laughed and joked about the week's events. Roxanne purposely avoided talk surrounding her supposed late night activities. While Roxanne was engaging, she was constantly thinking about her mask. Several innocent glances turned to fixation as she fluttered back and forth, leaving her embarrassed when Liz asked a question with no instant reply. Each time, Roxanne kindly requested Liz to repeat herself.

Inevitably, Liz asked, "So…what did you get up to last night?"

"Sat in," Roxanne answered. As expected, her blunt response was inadequate for Liz's insatiable desire for answers.

"Come on. Surely you did something more exciting than that. I know what you're like, you nutter."

"I didn't go out on the town alone, if that's what you're wondering." Roxanne figured it a sad existence if she had to enjoy a Friday night without friends. Truth be told, that's exactly what happened unless she actually considered the mask her friend. "I stayed in and had a few drinks. No thanks to you."

"I said I was sorry, Rox," Liz replied sincerely. James started to cry, grabbing his mother's attention. "Alright, James, mommy knows." Anger prevented Roxanne from considering that she would've donned the mask anyway, just out of sheer curiosity.

They stopped on the quay, Liz sat down on a bench to catch her breath and tend to her crying child; Roxanne scoffed and leant over a railing beside the water. Jetty's lined with small boats stretched a way up the man-made river. None of them were going anywhere in the gloomy afternoon; grey clouds blotted out the sun ready to pour.

"Did you see the news this morning?" Liz asked, providing her son with a bottle. Roxanne didn't want to answer; with her back turned Liz could not see the pain in her expression. Though with the web of gossip that Liz got herself caught in, it was inevitable Dudley was going to get mentioned. "Your _friend_ Dudley got what was coming to him."

"I saw," Roxanne replied. "He gambled. It was bound to bite him in the ass eventually."

"So you think he owed somebody? Debts caught up with him?"

"Possibly. Why else would someone want to kill him?" Roxanne found the perfect alibi; Dudley was the victim of his own vices.

"So…he owed a green faced lunatic money?" When Liz said it like that, even Roxanne couldn't quite stomach the absurdity.

She laughed. "Conspiring with the Martians."

"Could be just random bad luck," Liz pointed out, trying hard to disguise her smirk. Anything can happen, even the absurdity of a green-faced, super powered contortionist, apparently. "Fate. Life. The randomness of the world. Whatever you like to call it."

"Maybe…"Roxanne's hand drifted unaware, caressing the mask as she spoke. Roxanne could not trust the confidence of Liz to reveal such a secret – she'd just laugh at her anyway. She pulled her hand away before it looked suspicious.

"Happy now, James?" Liz asked softly. The sixteen-month-old toddler did not answer as expected. James was too focused on the bottle he held.

Roxanne turned. "Yes, mommy. Though, next time I want to suckle on your boob," she said in a squeaky voice.

"Grow up," Liz laughed. Roxanne snorted back as they moved off. "Wait until you have kids. I guarantee it will change you."

"Pfft…I prefer my freedom thank you," Roxanne chuckled.

"Living alone and working in a sorting office five days a week. Living the dream, Rox. Before you know it, you'll be the crazy old lady living alone with a hundred and one kittens."

"And what do you propose, Mistress Love?"

Liz eyed Roxanne up and down, scrutinising her outfit with an analytic stare. "Where to start: your hair, your clothes…your pack…" Roxanne reacted when she shouldn't have. "What's in there?"

"Nothing," Roxanne replied sharply, not helping to quell Liz's curiosity.

"Come on, I've seen you dipping your hand in and out of it all afternoon. Not to mention you've got some serious friction burn on your palms there. What's. In. There?"

Roxanne hesitated before retrieving the mask slowly, her arm felt heavy as a part of her resisted.

"This," she said calmly, showing the mask.

"That?!" Liz exclaimed, "Roxanne, why are you walking around with _that_?" After what Liz said in the office, Roxanne should not have expected any different. "If you get found out, you'll get so busted."

"No one's going to find out. I think that's the least of my concerns." Roxanne was beyond the point of wondering what might happen to her if she was found out for thievery. There was the more pressing concern of the two she murdered last night. But she had the mask – she could stop anybody, do anything. At least, she thought she could. All she needed was to wear it.

"Really?" Liz swiped the mask from Roxanne's grasp and mockingly analysed it. "Why do you like this cheap crap anyway?"

Roxanne remembered the story she told before and reminded Liz about it. "It's not cheap and it's not crap. It's a collector's item. Now give it back." A feverish desire spawned within her. Roxanne watched Liz turn the mask round and looked in. Something snapped.

"Did you actually wear this?"

"Yes I did. Give it back."

"How did you look?" With one hand, Liz brought the mask to her face. "Bet you looked well ugly."

Roxanne lunged for the mask, missed and grabbed Liz's arm, wrenching it round. "Liz, give it back!"

"Wha- why?" Liz saw the look in Roxanne's face, fear, desperation. Roxanne's grip tightened.

"Give it back!" Roxanne barked again.

"Okay! Okay!" And Liz dropped the mask. It clunked against the cobble path of the quay. Roxanne fell for it like a dog after its favourite toy, quickly scooping it up and stowed it back into her pack.

Feeling the burn on her wrist, Liz winced. "Fuck. It's only an object, Rox. No need to break my wrist. Ow!"

"You don't know how valuable that mask is."

"Frankly, I don't care." Liz resumed pushing James along, who was none the wiser to what occurred. Occasionally she would clench her fists to hold back the pain.

"I'm sorry, Liz." Roxanne didn't want to hurt Liz, but she could not deal with the consequences if Liz wore the mask. She wasn't sure how to handle herself to begin with.

Liz was soon smiling again. She could never stay mad at Roxanne, even when she was enraged. "You're lucky I'm so forgiving." Roxanne was relieved to hear. Still she rubbed her wrist occasionally.

They walked up to the parking lot where Roxanne's Mustang waited, drying paint across the flank. Liz sympathised and could understand why Roxanne would be so unhinged. She should've known better than to take the mask. All she wanted to do was tease her some; she just didn't expect such an aggressive reaction. Though holding the mask did feel oddly peculiar – an unsettling tingle shuddered through her body. Roxanne stored the paint thinner in the boot and kept her gift for the passenger's seat. She fired up the engine and rolled the window down.

"What about this evening?" Roxanne asked. "Could we do something this evening?"

Liz was knocked from her deep thought. "Hrm? Oh! I dunno, Rox, I'd need a babysitter and it's quite short notice."

"Hey!" Roxanne slackly pointed towards her. "It's a Saturday and you owe me big time after last night! I'll speak with my neighbour, Mrs Kennedy. She might be able to help."

Liz's face scrunched up like a prune. "Kennedy? Isn't that Allison's gran?"

"Yup."

"Didn't she sleep with your ex?"

"_Yes,_ Liz. And thank you for reminding me." Roxanne smiled sarcastically. Shame Allison was nothing like her gran. Not a single nice bone in her body. _Bitch_. "I'll sort something out and get back to you."

"See you," Liz said and waved Roxanne off as she drove away. Roxanne honked her horn and waved back out the open window.

Roxanne rolled up to her parent's house later in the afternoon. Organised hedgerows ushered her to the mansion atop the meadow. Two stories tall and at least the size of four normal detached homes pieced together. Bone-white pillars stood like guards besides the treated oaken doors, the hand-crafted ornate designs eyed her as she approached. Roxanne never liked the house, always too clean and too organised. House servants waited on her family day in day out – seven-hundred hours, get up, breakfast at seven-ten, teeth, seven-thirty etcetera. Disrupt the commandant's carefully planned schedule and she'd be sent to the cooler. It was a concentration camp, a prison, not home. Roxanne despised it.

She pulled the car up next to her father's Rolls Royce and took a moment to gather her thoughts and presentation, wet her fingers and ran them through her hair. Once the engine was off, Roxanne's dad came straight out the front door arms out. Roxanne slipped out of the Mustang and cringed as she greeted him.

"There's my darling Roxanne!" he greeted warmly.

"Hey dad," Roxanne replied and welcomed the hug.

"How are things?"

Roxanne freed herself from the hug and feigned a smile. "Alright. Not too bad." Then the car gripped his attention, upturning his smile.

"What happened?" he asked, clearly gesturing towards the stains.

"Some asshole-"

David raised a finger. "Language, lady." He never changed, living in the past, ever the gentleman as always. Strange that he wasn't around different company.

"Some…fellow, thought it would be funny to use my Mustang as a canvas for his artistic pursuits." Overdoing a posh accent perhaps wasn't the smartest idea. He sighed heavily which made Roxanne roll her eyes. She expected all this. If she had time, or just bothered before she came here, she could have cleaned it up. But she didn't know how long it would take. An hour maybe?

"Cut that sarcastic tone, Roxanne. I hope this fellow's going to pay for the damage."

"Oh, he already has," Roxanne said without a hint of irony. "I got some cleaner earlier. Hopefully it will do the job." David nodded, appreciating that Roxanne was taking the matter seriously, though his assumption was misplaced, believing Roxanne and the person in question had a reasonable discussion.

_Take another guess, old man_.

"Good. That's good. Anyway, come in. Your mother will be home shortly." David welcomed Roxanne into the foyer with pack and gift in hand. Within moments of the front door slamming shut, one servant, a short, middle-aged man with fine strands of brown hair and pressed suit, requested to take Roxanne's effects off her hands. She refused. She wanted to deliver the gift personally when her mother arrived. Plus there was the matter regarding her mask, there was no way she was going to let it out of her sight.

Since denying him temporary rights of her possessions, he asked instead if there was anything he could get for her. Roxanne just asked for a Cola, much to David's approval – no need to be accused of drunk driving – must be civil for the family.

"In here," David guided Roxanne into the next room – the lounge. Little changed over the years, there was the old fireplace with a portrait of her grandfather above it. The same dreary drapes hooked up beside the window panes. A brand new thirty inch TV and some garish furniture was all that was constantly changing. Roxanne knew it was her mother that pushed for the furniture, that way she would be the centre of her friend collective. David never wanted such hideous atrocities in an otherwise rustic mansion.

Roxanne squirmed in the chair, trying to find that perfect, comfortable position. Across from her, David lounged in his favourite armchair, drinking a glass of bourbon.

"I hope you got my message," David said, swallowing hard. Without any further prompt, Roxanne pulled the African mask from a brown paper bag.

"I figured mom would like this." Roxanne sounded hopeful and placed it in front of her face like she was wearing it, feeling somewhat foolish for doing so. David leant forward. Since there were no eye slots, Roxanne could not see him. But she still heard him shuffling his behind on the seat and lowered the mask.

"Must say I am surprised. Here I was expecting you to disappoint me, Roxanne. Let's hope that Melanie approves." Roxanne made a half-cocked smile and retrieved the already poured glass of Cola from the servant who'd been standing behind her for who-knows-how-long. If it were not for David's intervention, the servant could have been mistaken for furniture.

"I certainly hope so."

"Anything else, ma'am?"

_Yeah. Start singing and dancing Livin' La Vida Loca. Otherwise, kindly, fuck off._ Roxanne thought. She never liked being called ma'am when she was a kid and she did not like it now. _I do have a name, you know._

"No. Thank you," she replied in that posh accent again, which was met with discontent from her dad. The stare, _that _stare, he didn't need words. Roxanne mouthed 'sorry' to him and took a sip from the glass.

The gentle rhythm of the grandfather clock ticked back and forth, ringing through the empty halls, drawing Roxanne's attention time and again. Father and daughter conversed idly for twenty-seven minutes before Melanie made her arrival.

"Hello!" she called from the front door. David went to greet his wife with open arms like a family formality. Roxanne was urged to stay where she was; her dad pressed her back into her seat when she tried to get up. She heard the 'hellos' and the 'great to see yous' and even the sound of them kissing.

"Is Roxanne here?" Melanie asked scooting into the lounge with high-heels. This time she got up.

"Hi, mom!" she said, full of smile and genuine happiness. It had been too long, so Roxanne made the most of her comforting embrace.

"Wow. Has it really been that long? Can't remember the last time you were so delighted to see me."

"It's been a long few months, mom. It's just so great to see you again."

"You too my little ruby." Roxanne brightened with embarrassment.

"Oh…" Roxanne eased off and reached for the gift in its brown paper bag. "I got you this." She pulled the African mask out again and pulled the same trick as she did with her dad. Melanie laughed lightly at Roxanne's childish quirks. She was still her little girl, always.

"That's so sweet, Roxy. I can add this to my collection." Roxanne pulled the mask down and presented it to her mother. "You're such a darling. Now I've something for you." She made her way further into the lounge and placed the mask face up on the coffee table.

"I hope it's not a nasty piece of furniture from your stockpile," Roxanne jested.

"No, honey." Her mother took it lightly and continued. "Speaking of masks." Fishing her hand into her bag, Melanie pulled something out. "I remember you talking about these. So, whilst I was in the States…" Melanie produced a genuine Tiki Town mask. Roxanne was flummoxed. Another one? "I remember you talking about these masks. So I got you one."

One was bad enough. However, Roxanne noticed the shoddy replication. It was not the same material. It felt lighter; almost feather weight. And the paint was faded, peeling off in flakes of emerald – wooden rather than the jade finish of the genuine article. Even the eyes did not hold the same luscious illusion.

David looked on in disgust and scoffed. "Melanie, I think Roxanne's too old to be playing with masks."

"David, no one's ever too old for anything. Look at me, fifty-five and still going!"

"Says the wrinkles around your eyes," David whispered and slinked away before Melanie could react.

"Dad, these are collector's items. They can be worth a fortune!" Roxanne called out, trying to appeal to his entrepreneurial side.

"Then let them pay your rent if they can't help you get a better job!" he called back venomously.

"Fu-" Roxanne began, but refrained when Melanie begged her not to unleash her emotions. This was why Roxanne didn't like coming home, forget the mansion, the commandant was forever unsatisfied. Granted, David had been supporting his daughter for twenty-six years and no return.

Melanie was ready to fling her shoes heel first into his skull – as was Roxanne at that point – since she was within earshot Melanie kept her calm voice. "He's just sour he didn't get to spend six months around the world." Roxanne knew that as soon as she was gone, or Melanie was convinced she would not hear, there would be an argument. "But, and I hate to admit it, he is right. We're not going to be around forever. You need to be able to support yourself." Roxanne was hurt. She knew they were right, but was not happy to hear it regardless. What she didn't realise was what those words hid.

"I know," Roxanne said softly, not wanting to flare Melanie's temper with what she really wanted to say. "But I've tried everything: writer, musician, artist…I feel like I'm a creative person. But right now it just seems that package sorting is my calling. And it's unlikely I'm ever going to get any better than that."

Melanie placed a comforting hand Roxanne's shoulder, hiding a stark reality behind her bright blue eyes. This was not one of Roxanne's dilemma, but one of her own. "You'll find it – your true calling. Never settle for mediocre." She smiled. "You're my daughter. I know you'll find it." With that she kissed Roxanne on the cheek. She smiled and wiped the lipstick away.

Both girls walked into the study where David was pouring a drink. "Want a drink, Melanie?" he offered, regarding his choice of whiskey. Melanie refused. David shrugged and took a sip. "Did you see what some hooligans did to Roxanne's car? It's disgusting, I tell you."

"I did. But it's all been resolved. Hasn't it, Roxy?"

Roxanne nodded. "I think so. He won't be causing me anymore grief."

"Glad to hear it," Melanie concurred.

Yes, it was sorted. Just not in the 'right' way. Not in a way that anyone would approve of. Her gut wrenched as she wanted to talk to her parents about it. They couldn't keep a straight face at the absurdity. Even if they could, Roxanne would surely end up in a strait jacket. Or accuse her of being childish.


	7. Chapter 7

After hours of enduring Melanie's questionable piano skills and David's drivel, Roxanne made a necessary phone call. "I'd be delighted to," Mrs Kennedy said down the phone. Relieved, Roxanne thanked the elder for agreeing to look after James on such short notice.

"You have no idea how much I appreciate this! You're a life-saver, Mrs Kennedy."

"It's no problem at all, really. Be nice to have the company."

"You're such a darling. Thanks again." Roxanne hung up and then rang Liz to give her the good news.

"It's a date."

"That's a relief," Liz said.

"Meet me at my place in about…an hour and a half?" Roxanne looked over at the grandfather clock. That would make it eight. Perfect.

"Sure. See you then." Roxanne wished well and hung up once more. She wandered down the ornate and ivory mansion corridors, following two bellowing beasts in the kitchen. Melanie and David ceased arguing as soon as Roxanne shot into view, if she was heard before they would have silenced themselves sooner. "I need to shoot," Roxanne said as if she did not hear their confrontation.

Melanie composed herself, brushing down. "Okay darling." David turned his back. "Have a good time tonight. And…be careful."

Sighing, Roxanne added, "I'm not five anymore. I can take care of myself."

"Just don't get taken advantage of."

_Not even by ancient masks,_ Roxanne laughed off. "Yeah..." She hesitated a moment and pecked Melanie's cheek. "I won't." Her glance turned to her dad's broad back. "Dad?" David did not turn around, did not utter a word, not even the slightest acknowledgement much to Melanie's disapproval.

"David! Say goodbye to your daughter for Christ's sake!" David said nothing. Melanie's heavy sigh was Roxanne's cue to leave.

"See you next weekend," she whispered as she walked towards the door. Slightly muted exchanges returned as she left, hoping that Roxanne wouldn't hear them.

"We can't afford to support her much longer, Melanie. She needs to pull her thumb out and do something with her life," David groaned. Roxanne lingered a little longer.

"We'll help her for as long as she needs. End of discussion."

"She's been eating out of our hand for too long. We can't-"

"We or is it just you? Roxanne's our daughter for crying out loud. You can't just leave her to fend for herself. Can't you give her a job at your offices?"

David sighed heavily that it may have been his last breath. "The money isn't there. The business, and us, will be bankrupt by the end of the year." The silence was poisonous. Even though Roxanne could not see, she could feel the vigour drain from her mother as she spoke.

"How long? How?!"

"Last few years now. Competition has become stiff with the new firm. They've put others out of business. We've been keeping afloat with the remainder of our fortune, trying to find ways of competing. I…I don't want Roxanne to worry."

"David," Melanie said quietly. "Why not mention this sooner? Of course, you're so stubborn. Don't want to damage your pride. How can I be so damn stupid?"

_Why keep this secret?!_

"Now do you see why I want her to live for herself? I don't want to drag her down with us as well. She's got a whole life ahead. She shouldn't waste it."

_Damn right I won't!_

"What are we going to do?" Melanie's voice trailed off as Roxanne stepped further away – she had heard enough. Too much. Almost wished she hadn't lingered around. Ignorance is bliss after all.

Roxanne arrived back at her apartment much sooner than expected. What she did not expect was an unwelcome face outside Mrs Kennedy's door. At first, Roxanne thought it was Liz, discussing and resolving the small matter of James. No, it wasn't her. Instead, the raven-haired harlot stood in the doorway.

"Please, can't you help your granddaughter out?"

"Over three months without a word and all you're here for is my money!" This was a first. Roxanne couldn't remember a time when Mrs Kennedy raised her voice above a soft whisper.

"Hello Alison," Roxanne said grimly as she walked by. Alison turned, instantly identifying the fiery hair.

"Roxanne Travellyan. What's a bitch like you doing around here?"

"Mind your mouth, Alison!" Mrs Kennedy snapped. "I'll have you know, she's my neighbour."

Roxanne turned around slowly, undeterred by Alison's aggressive posture. "I could say the same about you. Looked in a mirror recently? _Bitch_."

"Say that again!" Alison boomed, stomping with purpose towards Roxanne. "Say that a-fucking-gain!" Mrs Kennedy followed quickly behind. Roxanne was more surprised at how spritely she was.

"Alison Kennedy, watch your tone!"

Alison stopped and shot glances between the two. "You're seriously protecting this tramp and not your own flesh and blood?"

"She's not a selfish brat like the one my son raised." Roxanne hid a smile, keeping her cool, serious pose consistent. "Think its best you left. You won't get a penny out of me, sick mother or no."

The vulture snorted with a deep frustrated breath. "Fine." She shot a killer glance at Roxanne but didn't have anything more to say. She turned and left, hands deep in her jacket pockets, feet seemingly shaking the block with heavy impacts. Roxanne wanted to cry something extra, but she didn't have the nerve. Scolding by grandmother was entertaining enough. Besides, Alison wouldn't react favourably.

"Sorry about that, Roxanne."

"You've nothing to be sorry about."

"She's my granddaughter – I have to be."

"Could always be from the mother's side you know." Roxanne tried to relieve the tension. It seemed to work. Mrs Kennedy smiled warmly.

"Don't doubt it. She's been hording after my money for years to pay debts or fuel whatever new addiction she can muster. Most likely the loan sharks are out for her blood again." She walked back towards her apartment room.

_Do all my enemies fall foul to similar vices_, Roxanne thought. First it was Dudley and now Alison. True, the growth of gambling in the city seemed to attract the scum – and money. These thoughts lingered in Roxanne's mind following the episode with her parents. Though she knew what was best. Gambling was not the answer to her family's growing money crisis.

Alison's tirade did not go unnoticed. As on cue, Nate made his presence known.

"Everything alright, Mrs Kennedy?"

"Fine, fine, Nathan. My granddaughter thinks she can rob me. Roxanne there helped greatly." Nate looked over to Roxanne surprised and scratched his head.

"Okay. Are you sure everything's fine? Roxanne you've not been bothering her have you?"

"Yes. Everything's fine. No, Roxanne is not bothering me. In fact she's a good young lady. Now I'm sure you have something better to do than dither with this old coot – I'm expecting company. Roxanne, you best get ready for your night out. Let me know when young James gets here."

"Yeah, I will." The door shut and Roxanne turned to leave.

"Hold it!" Nate called, stopping Roxanne yet again.

She groaned and growled with frustration. "What?! I've done nothing. You heard her yourself."

"No funny business. Remember?"

Roxanne smiled sheepishly. "Sure." Which seemed to work, Nate retreated and Roxanne escaped to her room. One calming shower later she felt refreshed and put some clean clothes on – nothing fanciful worn by trollops infesting the night. Another simple outfit; shirt, just unbuttoned enough to draw favour with any simpleton, and loose camo trousers. Not exactly fashionable, but Roxanne did not care. She didn't want to admit that she actually took style inspiration from the Spice Girls. Function over form was all that mattered.

And of course, the outfit was not complete without the green face. Roxanne felt the allure as she saw it poking out of her pack. Red eyes seemed to glow, hypnotising her once again, begging to be worn again. Its voice whispered on the air calling her name.

_Roxanne_. It pulled her in. _Let's cause some more carnage!_

"Maybe…" she said, slowly approaching the pack, "It couldn't hurt to try it again…surely…" Placing her fingers around the edges, she lifted it from the pack. The itch needed scratching. Those eyes, cold and blank stared straight at her. Trying to justify her reasoning, Roxanne flipped it over. There was no need to justify – she just wanted something solid to hold on to. The mask had gotten its infectious claws into her skull. Slowly, Roxanne drew the mask to her face…

Knocking snapped her out of the trance instantly. She shook herself free and tossed the mask onto the armchair. Roxanne unbolted the door and opened it. All dolled up, Liz stood smiling.

"Ready?"

"I didn't know it was date night," Roxanne joked.

"You're looking as stylish as ever I see," Liz sighed, noticing the combat trousers. "Planning to invade the West Country tonight?"

"Alison Kennedy if I got the chance." Down the corridor, James was being held by Mrs Kennedy just inside her doorway. Liz blew a kiss and waved bye-bye to James whilst Roxanne put together some things. She returned with a small zip-up purse around her shoulder and locked her door. As usual, she tested it to appease her anxiety.

"Ready?" she asked. Liz nodded and they walked out past Mrs Kennedy.

"Bye, James. Be good."

"I'm sure he will. Have a nice night, girls."

"Thanks, Mrs Kennedy. We'll see you tomorrow morning," Roxanne said finally as they both walked out of sight.

Roxanne took the responsibility of driving them to the city. Liz remarked about the mess still on the car. If it was left for too long, surely it would become permanent. Roxanne was not concerned; she just could not find the time to do it yet, despite really meaning to clean it. Usually the parking lots in the city were full, or havens for break-ins. Roxanne left it in a small residential street just a stone's throw from Ashton Gate stadium.

At gone eight, the street lamps were in full illumination. Amber beams guided them towards the city centre. Radiant neon lights dazzled the river and harbour side amusements. Fresh grilled burgers and kebabs from the local mobile kitchen tickled and tempted the girl's appetites.

Per the norm, they ordered a burger each. Liz gobbled her cheeseburger down quickly, whilst Roxanne followed behind. With their stomachs lined, they were ready for a night to forget, as was usually the case.

Every weekend there was a particular barge moored along the harbour quayside. Expended cigarette smoke poisoned the air, overpowering the strong petrol smell lingering from the barge stacks. This was usually the first stop for the girls on a night out: a few beers or spirits before moving further into the city for some partying or more beers, whichever they preferred.

"Ladies first," Liz jested as they got to the jetty down to the barge.

Roxanne shook her head and smiled. "You're too kind, mi'lady."

Suddenly there was a shriek. "Travellyan!" Roxanne looked down the quay.

"Fuck…Alison…" The banshee approached the jetty, ready to bulldoze anybody into the cold harbour waters.

"Get lost, Alison. Go play with somebody else." Ignoring Liz, Alison strode towards the jetty. When Liz was within distance, she slapped her across the cheek.

"Hey!" Incensed, Roxanne sprinted up the jetty and rammed Alison. She tackled her to the ground and struggled to hold back. Winded from the collapse, Alison gasped for air. When Roxanne would not attack, she flipped her around. Alison was atop Roxanne. Unlike Roxanne, she wailed into her like a frenzied feline, yelling and cursing her with each strike. Nails scraped her skin and tugged against her shirt. Only her arms kept some of the blows at bay, leaving Alison's mark upon them. Liz finally recovered and grasped Alison's arms.

"Get off me!" Alison screamed. Roxanne slithered back and kicked Alison in the gut with her sneakers. Winded again, Alison groaned and clutched her chest. She staggered and groaned around the cobble quay as Roxanne and Liz walked back down the jetty.

"Come on," Roxanne said, "I've had enough of this." Bruised, embarrassed and unable to conjure a retort, Alison slinked away. Inside the barge bar was a reasonable crowd. Several others had the same idea as Roxanne and Liz. A drunken couple were on the karaoke machine, singing some Elvis together.

Wooden boards creaked beneath their feet. Before being converted for entertainment, the barge had probably been in service to the Bristol harbour for years. It still was, from a point of view. Rather than raging the high seas, it was drowning in spilt alcohol and cigarette ash.

"She's still got it in for you," Liz stated as Roxanne ordered two vodkas.

"I'd say that was for earlier." Liz glanced and lowered her brow. "Uh…she was pestering Mrs Kennedy for money. Was damn close to knocking me senseless then, too, I'd wager. I'd knock her for a round or two if I knew it wouldn't get me in trouble." She paid for the drinks and passed a small glass tumbler to Liz.

"She refused, I take it."

"Yup." One deep swig of the alcohol burned her throat. Damaged skin pain was numbed gradually. Not that Alison hurt her anyway. Red marks where her nails scraped her would vanish quickly. At least she didn't have a scarred ego. "I've been living in that block for six months. Not once, prior to today, has that bitch even as much given her a phone call in that time. I don't blame the old stallion."

"Alison's been owing debts to some guys in town – real seedy place, dancers, hookers, drugs. Think she might actually be in on it: she got busted for distributing a few weeks back. Managed to make bail, though. Guess even bitches like her have friends in high places."

"Maybe our Green-Faced vigilante will pay her a visit for not paying her debts," Roxanne laughed, Liz didn't react so. She downed the remaining spirit whilst Liz lingered with hers and ordered a second.

"Not holding back tonight then?"

Roxanne laughed. "You know me, Liz: strong constitution." Another tumbler was quickly emptying into her mouth.

"Big words, Rox. You might kill my primitive little brain. If the vodka doesn't kill yours first."

Despite Alison's attempts to disrupt their enjoyment, Roxanne was unwinding and enjoying it. Still, she kept the mask close at all times and lingered even in her poisoned head. By the time Roxanne sank another vodka, Liz was still going through her first at a pedestrian pace.

Conscious of her driving responsibilities, Roxanne held off on a third round. Instead she took the opportunity to liven things up. And kill some time.

"Don't!" Liz begged, noticing Roxanne making her way towards the karaoke setup. "You're terrible, Rox."

"Well…the sooner you drink up…the sooner we can move on, your choice," she gleamed and primed up the machine. Liz ended up enduring Roxanne's deep renditions of New Order and Oasis tracks. A few lucid lads sung along as she sang 'Don't Look Back in Anger.' Then she performed her favourite karaoke track; 'Just a Girl.' She drew the entire crowd, though the pulsing neon lights did help. Purples, greens, a full spectrum of beams saturated the entire bar. Shaking her hips and torso naturally excited the drunken denizens, likely hopeful that Roxanne's generous assets would escape their man-made shackles. Roxanne's frequent appearances made her a small celebrity, albeit exclusive to this lonely barge.

Eventually, Liz finished her round and Roxanne stopped.

"Till next week!" she yelled over the mic.

"Ready to move on, Superstar?" Liz jested as Roxanne approached.

"We should duet sometime."

Liz looked scornfully at the stage, now occupied by a trio of tarts. "You wouldn't catch me dead up there. Come on, the night is young and there are other bars to conquer."

Further into the city they went. Jet engines blared overhead as late flights took to the sky. Taxis idled in laybys and designated parking along the winding city streets. Liz and her high-heels struggled to keep pace with Roxanne and it wasn't long before she was falling over her own shadow.

"Wait up!" she called. Roxanne turned and laughed, striding backwards.

"This is why I don't wear heels. Keep up!" Poor Liz faltered once more, this time she went crashing into the pavement.

"Roxy!" she cried.

Roxanne scoffed and turned back again, frustrated. "Fuck's sake." She was a fair way ahead of Liz. As she backtracked, two supposed kindred spirits helped Liz up.

"Easy," one said kindly to her. His partner, unseen by Liz, rifled through her purse and swiped a small collection of notes.

Upon noticing the pickpocket, Liz called out. "Hey!" Before she could do anything, they both bolted. "Bastards!" Pursuit was pointless. Liz kept losing her balance. Roxanne saw everything and ran back to assist her friend.

"Wha- did they take something?!"

Liz examined the inside of her purse and realised the extent of the thievery. Her keys were missing, as was thirty pounds. "Just my keys and money," Liz groaned. Roxanne could tell she was on the cusp of crying. They ran down a single narrow alley.

"Stay here," she said kindly, "I'll get them back." Liz wiped the swelling tears from her eyes.

"Thank you."

"I'll be back in a jiffy."


	8. Chapter 8

The maze of alleyways continued on and on and on, never ending. Roxanne was determined not to be beaten, even after the crooks had clocked her early, fresh puddles beneath her feet served as warnings. Rather than utilise their numeric advantage, they just fled. An intersection leading back to the main road opened up and Roxanne lost sight of them.

"Shit," she said frustrated and paced back and forth. "I can't go back to Liz empty-handed." She kicked shattered shards of a broken bottle into the asphalt before heading back the way she came. Scuffs of sodden shoes froze her in place.

"Looking for us?" one of them said, slim and sweating from all the running, her partner brandishing a broken bottle. Suddenly, Roxanne was not so brave. She knew the mask was just inside her pack, but the crooks were so close that she would be shanked long before she'd manage to smack the green to her face.

"What's in the bag? Empty it!" he demanded. Roxanne did not move, did not draw breath. Then glass bit into her neck like fangs of a wolf.

"Alright! Alright!" she said raising her arms, levering one to unhook the pack. The slim one snagged the bag and rummaged through, turning out shreds of paper, clips and deteriorating fabric, and the mask.

"Well? What's she have?" his partner asked, still keeping the bottle close to Roxanne's neck, wincing with each minor, shaky adjustment.

He picked up the mask, staring into it; his partner too looked as he got up. "Halloween's come early. This shit ain't worth jack."

"So…what now, Jez? Kill her?" Roxanne's eyes widened as blood drew from her neck.

_Oh god, hope I'm not gonna regret this._ "Wait!" Roxanne said sharply before anything else could happen. Only her blood was worthwhile to them, their loss – even if Roxanne was not big on her idea, it was her only option now. She gulped. "T-there's more to that mask-" the bottle pressed harder and Roxanne tilted back so that she wouldn't suffer.

"What?" Jez asked.

"I can show you something…_magical_ with that mask. If you'll let me," Roxanne waited. Jez looked to his partner as did she, baffled. Their uneducated brains could not fathom the reasoning behind it and laughed.

"Magical, you say? You must think we're idiots," Jez said. "Magic doesn't exist."

Roxanne gulped again, trying to think of a way to pry the mask from them whilst still keeping her head. "Okay. A proposal then."

"A what?"

"A prop- a deal: I show you the magic. You let me go. If you're not satisfied, then you can…do what you want. Either way, the decision is yours." Roxanne held, keeping her breaths shallow as the two pondered one another with their gazes until eventually laughing.

"Okay, magician," Jez chuckled and handed the mask to Roxanne. "Show us the trick. It better be good." She cupped it in her hands, bottle still to her neck.

"It'll be to die for," Roxanne grinned. _I hope._ Without any further hesitation she brought the mask up and buried her face into it once more.

Roxanne cried as the jade rocks rattled her skull. It stuck fast, burning to her flesh, going from stone cold to searing coals in a mere moment. She wailed and cried as jade pulled round her skull like snake coils, swallowing her hair. Pain cleansed her of thoughts beyond the assault on her body. All she wished for was more preparation before slapping that mask on. While she could not hear nor see her attackers, they watched on in terror as the young woman tussled with her head, quickly being wrapped and consumed by the once unassuming object.

"Jez, what the fuck's happening?!" the woman cried over Roxanne's screams.

"I dunno! How the fuck am I supposed to know, huh?!" Clouds swirled, enveloping the red-headed girl still screaming and wailing, becoming hoarser, deeper as bolts shot from the storm. They shielded their eyes and backed away, feeling a force dragging them towards the sparks. White crackles revealed an agonised skeleton within. "Should we get some help?"

"Let's just get outta here! Why we still standing around, come on!"

"Too late, chumps," a voice said beyond the smoke. Clouds washed over Roxanne's skin and green dome as she emerged, her hair, pink and electric. "You've gone too fore!" she grinned.

"Four? Four wha-"

"Fore!" Roxanne cried out, whacking Jez's head with a giant golf club, sending him into orbit, screaming and wailing until the furthest alley wall stopped his ascent.

_Yes. I can do this._ Roxanne felt in control, about as convinced as a novice on a newly broken horse. She meant to do that, but as she set eyes on Jez's girlfriend, she began to crack. Her smug smile warped to demonic grin.

"S-so, toots." Roxanne's mind couldn't think straight, she felt the mask's influence digging into her reasonable thinking, picking away at her locked emotions. "What am I to do with you, hrm?" Her own consciousness vanished and her deepest emotions drove her. The woman, foolish and unsure what to do, felt the best course was to jab the big red eye with the bottle. She was only human after all.

Roxanne wailed and cried as the shards pierced her eye. "Ow! Ah, ow!" Then suddenly stopped and stared through the neck of the bottle. "Please. Don't you get it, toots?!" And pulled the bottle off, crunching at grinding followed by a pop. "I'm invincible! Stay there a second," Roxanne laughed and framed the terrorised face with her fingers. "Ah, the perfect image! I shall call it: The Moaner Lisa! You're name is Lisa, right? Well, it is now. I know a girl called Lisa-" The woman's body tingled and froze, like a dead leg but all over. She tried to move, but her feet were glued to the spot. As Roxanne moved her fingers up, down all around, the woman followed forever stuck within the frame of flesh. Roxanne snapped her fingers, the woman felt free, released from whatever spell the green-faced assailant had her under. She tried to run but hit something. Roxanne laughed hysterically.

"Hey!" The woman tried another way and hit something again. "What gives?!" It took her two more attempts to realise that she was trapped – Roxanne took her fingers out of frame and held a small cube in her hand, the woman staring out, bashing an invisible barrier.

"Aw, she's so cute!" Roxanne giggled, shaking the tiny prison.

"Let me the fuck out of here you creep!"

"Mommy, can I keep her! _No you cannot._ Daww, pwease? _No!_ Fine. Time to say bye, bye pretty birdy." She sighed and grinned from pointed cheek to pointed cheek. "Pull!" she yelled and threw the cube into the air, and dragged a hefty revolver from her trouser pocket. Whilst the cube was still airborne, Roxanne took shots at it.

_One_. Missed.

_Two. _Missed.

_Three, four, five, six…_Missed.

"Meh. The fall'll get her." Not quite. The cube and the woman within fell out of sight and into a dumpster. "Whelp, the council will have one messy rubbish truck when they squish her." Helplessly, she knocked on the confines of her prison, unlikely to be heard by anyone.

"Soooo…what now?" Roxanne pondered tapping and scratching her green cranium. Liz's stolen items lay about the tarmac, dropped once Jez took flight. "Ah the damsel's effects! I mustn't disappoint her, for she is waiting for me and my heroic return! I shall be loved – adored – dare I say – which I do! I will forever be noticed for my altruism!" Then a devious ditty popped up in Roxanne's head. "Pfft, fuck no! She can wait. There's somebody I'd like you to get acquainted with, big ole' bean head."

Alison stumbled around the city streets for another hour clutching her aching belly. Damn Roxanne could kick. She hadn't felt this winded since she once fell off a trampoline back in secondary school. Some thought it was funny, but Alison never noticed those that really cared – not even a certain red-haired dyed harlot. Eventually she bumbled into her favourite watering hole – besides the bottom of the harbour, as Roxanne and many others might have wished – and pulled up a barstool. The barman recognised his regular and mixed up a vodka and cola without a single exchange of words, as he approached he noted her clasping her belly too tightly.

"Time of the month, Ally? Don't think you should be drinking."

"Even if that were the case, go fuck yourself, Kyle. Some bitch got me good in the gut. That's it," Alison groaned and took a sip. Kyle and Allison were friends, but not good enough for her to be a bed-fellow. He was a tad overweight, though he argued it was nothing more than a beer-gut. Regardless, she did not find it flattering, instead, she confided in him as a source and a good drinking buddy. Even though her belly still burned with hate fuelled by vodka, she was up for a good night of rough passion.

The bar was filled with the usual assortment of male groups and a handful of couples receiving scornful stares from Alison. They smiled and shared their tongues like a horde of braggarts; she grimaced with a horrid mix of jealousy and disgust. A group by the pool tables were drawn by an individual demonstrating his skills with a cue. Impressed drunks hollered and cheered as the slick young man with combed back fringe and prominent cheekbones knocked the balls about the table.

"Now that I have entertained your egos, which of you fine gentleman would care to play?" His Lancashire accent stood out in the bar. None of the westerners were interested now that he was no longer dazzling them with pub tricks. "Nobody?" Perhaps they realised how one-sided a friendly game would be. "Surely you sir can play?" He gestured to another with the cue who dismissed himself too. "Right, fine – I'll just entertain myself then." He waltzed up to the bar alongside Alison, unaware of her wandering eyes scanning him. "Barkeep, one ale for a weary simpleton!"

"Are you queer?" Alison asked. Neutral Kyle didn't smile, this stranger was new to the bar so he had no idea how he'd react. Normally if one of Kyle's regulars was asked that they'd punch said person until they were unrecognisable, at least if they were in the presence of their partners or peers. So the guy's calm demeanour was surprising.

"No, my dear. I'm just glad to have a beer in my hand and a lovely lady beside me."

"Well keep your other hand to yourself, weirdo." She'd seen all sorts of weird hording after her before, but nothing quite as peculiar as this guy.

"That I can. That I can. Though you should lighten up – it does no wonders to your complexion."

"Lighten up? You have no clue the time I'm having."

"Troubles with money. And perhaps an encounter with an old flame." Alison looked up at the stranger with a puzzled glare. "Sound about right?"

"How do you-"

"Who doesn't have money issues in this day and age, my dear. And I saw your scuffle with the _flare-headed_ mistress on the quay earlier."

Alison scowled. "You been _stalking_ me?"

"You could say that. In fact, I could help you out with a problem or two."

Slightly creeped out and partially intrigued, Alison debated whether she should trust this stranger with prominent cheekbones. "How so?"

"I simply wish to talk with the gentlemen – the sharks, shall we say – you owe. Perhaps even convince them to wipe out your debt. I can be quite persuasive."

"You don't even know me. Why would you help me?"

"Consider it a mutual interest."

Escape seemed like the best option; something about him did not sit well with her. "No. You'll get me into more trouble. More than I am already." Her wrist was suddenly grabbed by the stranger.

"My dear, you would do well to relax. Please, allow me." His hands explored the bare skin. Through some technique unknown to her, Alison felt alleviated; the stranger's thick digits felt soft on her flesh and seemed to release all her stress, he knew just where to apply the slightest bit of pressure. Kyle watched on, one hand beneath the bar, brushing against a telephone. "How do you feel now?"

Alison sighed, "Great…how did you-" The stranger hushed her. She felt like a princess in a fairy tale spellbound by a handsome prince.

"_Magic_," he gleamed, "I have a way with people, see. Now I wish to meet your friends. I _can_ help."

Alison still felt uncomfortable taking the stranger along. Even though they just met, she felt like she could trust him. He seemed to have an aura about him, a presence that would perhaps be the solution to her problems.

"What's the catch?"

"No catch, my dear. Show me where they are and I'll take care of the rest."

Alison pondered for a moment too long, glancing away, failing to notice the sudden glow of red in the stranger's eyes and twitch of his composed smile.


	9. Chapter 9

_Be right back she said_. Liz wandered the city streets, alone, resenting her 'friend' for supposedly abandoning her. After waiting for a few minutes at the mouth of the alleyway, she built up the courage to investigate. Surprised to find her effects left strewn about further down the alley, but no Roxanne, Liz wandered the streets for a while trying to find Roxanne. Part concerned, and part angry, she didn't return. _Where are you, Roxy?_ After an extended search, Liz felt vulnerable being alone in the city. All she was concerned about now was getting home to her son. Even that was unlikely, considering that Roxanne's car was gone.

Liz whispered under her breath. "Fuck you, Roxanne, if this was your way of getting back at me." Fortunately, since she had her effects returned, she was able to make a return to Roxanne's apartment.

Elsewhere a racing green jaguar idled outside a seedy club, Alison and the strange gentleman regarded the establishment.

"This is the place then, my dear?" he asked.

"_My dear_? I'm not your _dear_, pal. You said you could settle my debts – this is the place."

The gentleman turned his lips up. Neon-pink lettering highlighted the nature of the building – a curvaceous outline of a female figure and logo. "_The Darling Angels Club_. Very classy. I expect the owners are just as much."

"They're not."

"It was sarcasm, _dear_. You would do well to understand my many quirks. Shall we?" First he got out of the vehicle. Then Alison followed once he stepped round to the passenger side, opening the door for her. Never had she encountered such an individual, drunk or no – his mannerisms were alien to her simple mind. He gestured to Alison to lead on, of course these people knew her so she could at least understand that decision.

"I'll do the talking. They'll get funny with a stranger."

"Very well. I'll withhold my charms until required." His face twitched, though it was hard to see in the darkness of the streets. Two bruisers, like giant hairless gorillas wearing tuxedos, stood at the door. They instantly acknowledged the approaching woman.

"Ali, boss says get lost until you can pay your debt," one said.

"That's why I'm here, Jonny. I've got his _money_."

He passed a glance at the gentleman in tow. "That so? What's with the clown?"

"He's, uh, a friend. That's not important," Alison said with minimal conviction.

"This _fruit_ ain't getting in."

"That's quite unnecessary spouting insults gentlemen. I am simply here as a neutral party to assist in Ms Alison's predicament."

"Say what?" Jonny replied, his partner keeping suitably quiet for the time being.

The prominent cheeked gentleman showed the first sign of losing patience. "Let me translate this into words you chaps will understand: I merely wish to meet your boss to settle Alison's debt."

"This whore's debt? Why would anyone stick their neck out for you?" the other standing gorilla said, glancing towards Alison.

"I am a patient individual, _Jonny_, but even my patience has its limit. Let me through, or I will be mailing your limbs parcel post to your family one day at a time."

"Is that a threat, meathead?"

"No. Not at all," the gentleman smiled. "It's a fact, Jonny. If you don't let us through, that is."

"Okay, time to take a hike, buster." Jonny approached ready to grab the gentleman. With little effort he proceeded to twist Jonny's arm into awkward positions he didn't know existed. A sudden pop and wail followed.

"_That's_ a threat. So, will you let us through now?"

Jonny, for a large man, kept his cool under the immense pain and the loss of function as his arm limply dangled. "Fuck. Fine, go on."

"Thank you." He glanced at the other bouncer again, "um…you best take Jonny to a hospital. That might be quite bad." Alison watched the whole scenario, mouth agape and instead followed the gentleman into the club.

"Um…okay. Was that fucking necessary?!" she said with a slight raise of her voice.

"Obstacles, my dear. I dealt with them. They weren't going to let us in otherwise."

"Fine. Whatever. When we're inside, I'll take you to Zack, he runs the place. Please, don't do anything to piss him off."

"I wouldn't dream of it," the gentleman replied. Somehow Alison didn't believe him.

As they entered the club proper a deep red hue doused the pair as if every occupant was drenched in blood. Gentle, steady pulses between red and alluring pink accompanied the slow, sensual music. Carpets and pillars adorned the corridors and main hall with tall ceiling and windows across the top accommodating patrons. As if the welcoming name and logo wasn't clear enough, the gentleman realised what kind of club this was. Scantily clad women, some with less clothing than normal, paraded about the place. Atop a stage a feminine figure swivelled and danced around wearing only a hypnotic smile and a gorgeous gaze, drawing gawkers and onlookers from the floor to the bar. Not for the gentleman though. Something else was on their mind.

Alison guided him off to the back, walking pass the booths full of strangers and hormonal individuals salivating over the evenings offerings: Rubi, Fiona, Viola, too many to name. At the end of the day, to most, these girls were just faces and meat to satisfy lonely middle aged, or older, men. After climbing a set of spiralling steps, they found themselves outside a VIP lounge. The gentleman managed to sneak a look inside over the rope barrier; a couple well-dressed individuals sat sporadically around tables. Pinstripe suits and double breasted jackets, they could've been mistaken for stars out of a mob flick. Another half-dozen or so was not as formal with their jeans and shirts and fake golden chains. Among them a woman each adorned in their own style – dresses short and long, bearing as much flesh or only a few previews of what was beneath.

"I've come to settle up with Frank," Alison said to the lone bouncer beside the velvet rope. Unsurprisingly, he eyed up Alison's company. "He's with me," she added. A few uneasy moments for Alison followed as the bouncer conferred with another who promptly went to talk with someone inside and then returned, nodding towards the bouncer. With no complaints, he unhinged the rope and let them through.

A few gave the two strange looks as a worn Alison and the composed gentleman strolled through to the prominent looking man sat by a window viewing down into the club proper. He turned and acknowledged Alison.

"Surprised seeing you back so soon, Alison." He stood up and turned towards her.

"I work fast," Alison replied, glancing quickly towards the gentleman who now had his hands well inside his pockets, a smile started to form on his face.

"A little _too fast_, according to your clients. So, where's my money?"

"I brought a friend-"

"That's nice. Where's my money? Or does Grinning Greg here have something to do with it?"

"I do, in fact," the now grinning gentleman answered. "See, I'm what you might call a...talented individual. More so than most you know, Frank. And I have my own problems. Money problems."

"So you don't have the money, eh? Time to leave then."

"You misunderstand me, Frank. I'm offering to help, to help clean her debt and make you rich – _very_ rich."

"What's the catch?"

"In return, for my continued service…eighty percent of your _takings._"

Frank laughed, "I can get as many goons as I want for that much, no matter how talented they think they are, or as crazy as they may be. No. I have a better idea…" Slowly, he pulled out a pistol from his jacket and a silencer and twisted it onto the barrel of the firearm. "How about: you clear off, never come back. Or I blow your brains out." Alison stood stunned, her eyes widening with fear, horribly regretting her decision to bring the guy along. He was crazy from the start and she should've known better. All she cared about now was her own self-preservation and edged backwards.

"Tempting ultimatum. But I must insist." Like a western standoff the two men stared into one another's eyes. Frank didn't flinch, nor the gentleman. Only the pulsing bass boomed through the room.

"Fine." With that, Frank raised his weapon and pulled the trigger. A muffled blast escaped the barrel and a round lodged itself between the gentleman's eyes, going straight through and into the wall behind. He staggered back with the force of the impact, his body collapsing like a ragdoll into a seat behind him. Frank smirked and began twisting the smoking suppressor off. "Take this body and dump him in the river." He turned to Alison. "As for you-"

"We're not done yet," a deep, scratchy voice groaned. From his seat, the gentleman stood up, reacting as if he didn't have a gaping hole through his head, he adjusted his shirt clearing out the creases. Then he put a finger through his head, feeling around the messy entryway. "I was quite fond of this face. Now look what you've gone and done." Frank and his posse were left stunned in a frame of 'what the fuck.' "Aw, well. Suppose there's no need for disguises anymore."

"What the fuck are you?!" demanded Frank. Without a word, the gentleman pulled his finger out, gripping at a seam around the bullet wound with it. As a loose piece of flesh came away, he got hold of more with the rest of his fingers. With each removal of the flesh a green face revealed itself, blood splashing away as the false mask was ripped from the body.

"Your worst nightmare!" Roxanne grinned as she pulled the last remaining shred of fake flesh free. Half of the patrons vacated their bowels at the grotesque sight of the ripping face.

"You!" Frank growled, hastily reattaching the silencer, fumbling like a novice.

"Yes, me!" Roxanne wasn't immediately concerned by what Frank was referring to; she was distracted by removing her disguise as if it were a second skin. Eventually, her full form emerged from the body, wearing a suit of her own with crazy hot-pink. "What about me?" Roxanne stared around like an innocent pup, curious as to Frank's accusation. Once he managed to attach the silencer, he pointed the firearm back at the green-faced intruder.

"You're the one what got my casino shut down!" Roxanne turned to Frank, sheepishly observing him as he pointlessly aimed the weapon at her.

"That won't stop me. Worked so well the first time, right?" she grinned like the devil herself. "Besides, it's done wonders for my complexion." Most failed to notice the gradual mend on her skull as the bullet wound disappeared, renewed and wrapped in green skin. "I should be thanking you, Frank."

"Shut up! Stop talking!" Frank demanded. His scornful look of hate and anger unaltered in the slightest by Roxanne's unique rebuttals. She remained quiet, yet kept a quizzical look upon her face. "How dare you have the balls to destroy my business, you then come to me offering your services with intent to rip me off?! Are you fucking mental…_whoever_ you are?!"

"Oops…does that mean no deal then?" she asked cheekily, infuriating the man further. Veins looked to be bursting as the blood rushed to his skin. One followed by several shots escaped the barrel with muffled blasts impacting different areas of Roxanne's body.

"Come on now, that's just getting annoying," she jested as the bullets went straight through her. Soon enough, there was clicking as Frank kept pulling the trigger of the empty gun. Even with the muffling of the weapon, Alison held her ears and turned away, unable to watch the scene much more. The sound of metal shells impacting and piercing flesh was enough to make her stomach churn with disgust. Most would be dead, but not Roxanne with the mask. She took each round as if she was wearing a thick plate of Kevlar under her clothes.

"Are you quite done?"

"Wha-what are you?" Frank stammered, finally realising his foolishness as he stowed his weapon.

"I'm your new boss, Frank. Since you've been so reluctant to accept my generous offer of a fair share I've decided I'll just take your role instead." Roxanne made herself comfortable in the chair where Frank once sat as an assurance and taunt of her position. Being the man Frank was he was not going to accept such a young, albeit strange, upstart, move in and take his place.

"I answer to no-one!"

"Then let's make this easy. Accept your new role before I _liquidate_ you," Roxanne replied with a typically fiendish grin. "I can do quite easily to you what you could never do to me in two seconds flat. Want to test it?" Frank remained silent for now. He valued his life, even at the cost of his businesses to the strange entity. After witnessing what she could do, he was not going to try it any longer.

"Good: You know your place. From now on, Alison's debt is cleared and you answer to me. Whether you like it or not – I don't care – I'm calling the shots. Do what I say Frank and I'll make you a very rich man. Us – we'll be very rich. Just you wait and see. But! If you decide to do anything to upset me. Well. That'd be spoiling things now. So be a good underling, continue doing what you do. I have plans you'll know about soon enough." Roxanne patted Frank on the cheek like a toddler or an obedient pup and signalled him away. He grimaced as he went, cursing the misfortune struck upon him. Meanwhile, Roxanne swivelled in her chair, enjoying a sense of childish delight. Seeing all the perplexed faces of her company made her even giddier – the attention, people noticing her, even if it were through strange, bold methods. Alison saw the unharmed green-faced girl and released a small smile. Yes, she was free from her debt as Frank agreed. However, she was not convinced this crazy woman was transparent in their arrangement.

Alison approached. "Thanks," she said quietly. "What happens now?"

"Now?!" Roxanne replied surprised. "Now the fun _really_ begins."


End file.
